The  Indian  Special 


3 


Estelle  Aubrey 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 


BY 

ESTELLE  AUBREY  ARMSTRONG 


NEW   YORK 

HERMANN  LECHNER 

PUBLISHER 


qff 


COPTHIGHT,  1912, 
BT 

ESTELLE  AUBREY  ARMSTRONG 


TO  MY  COUSIN 
CYNTHIA 


263706 


"  Ye  say  that  all  have  passed  away, 

That  noble  race  and  'brave; 
That  their  light  canoe  has  vanished 

From  off  the  crested  wave. 
That  'mid  the  forest  where  they  roamed, 

There  rings  no  hunter's  shout — 
But  their  name  is  on  your  waters, 

Ye  may  not  wash  it  out:' 

We  say  their  sons  are  with  us  yet, 

Armed  for  the  fray  as  of  yore; 
In  workshop,  on  gridiron  and  diamond 

They  gather  our  scalps  by  the  score. 
They  lower  fair  Harvard's  proud  crimson, 

Our  Marathon  win  with  a  shout — 
We'll  leave  their  name  on  our  waters, 

For  we  cannot  wash  it  out. 


vii 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 


CROW  RIVER  BOARDING  SCHOOL, 
SOUTH  DAKOTA 

OCT.  24,  19—. 
MY  DEAR: 

I  am  in  an  appreciative  mood  to-day.  I 
have  been  thinking  how  thoroly  I  could  sympa 
thize  with  old  Pete  Tatreau ;  you  know  he  was 
drafted  during  the  late — not  the  latest — un 
pleasantness  and  during  his  first  battle  was 
heard  to  remark  with  considerable  emphasis 
that  he  wished  he  was  at  home  under  the  bed 
eating  the  neighbor's  cat.  Speaking  for  my 
self,  I  think  I  could  find  a  more  congenial  occu 
pation,  but  the  spirit  which  prompted  the 
slightly  strange  desire  appeals  to  me  very 
strongly.  Even  that  dreary,  dried-up  old  town 
you  and  I  call  '  home '  looks  remarkably  good 
to  me  from  my  present  view  point,  the  Crow 
River  Boarding  School. 

From  the  days  when  I  read  "  Our  Wild  In 
dians  "  by  day  and  dreamed  touching  scalping 
scenes  at  night,  I  have  known  that  Fate,  as  she 
collected  and  mixed  together,  one  by  one,  the 
ingredients  which  were  to  compose  my  particu- 
[1] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

lar  bit  of  dough  from  the  universal  batch, 
would  throw  in  a  few  Indians  to  make  good 
measure.  And  she  has.  You  can  trust  Fate 
every  time.  She  will  see  that  you  get  all  that's 
coming  to  you,  regardless  of  any  little  private 
plans  of  your  own.  The  soul-satisfying  con 
solation  of  "  What  is  to  be,  will  be  "  would  be 
lost  were  it  otherwise !  When  one  does  not  hap 
pen  to  be  a  man  with  a  wife  to  blame  things  on, 
Fate  makes  an  excellent  substitute,  with  the 
added  advantage  of  not  being  able  to  talk  back. 

Has  mother  written  you  how  I  happen  to  be 
here  ?  That  '  happen  '  sounds  rather  disre 
spectful  to  the  goddess  I  have  just  been  eulo 
gizing,  but  never  mind.  If  she — mother — has 
written  you,  she  doubtless  told  you  that  I  have 
a  Civil  Service  appointment  as  kindergartner, 
at  the  Crow  River  Boarding  School  for  a 
probationary  period  of  six  months,  with  fur 
nished,  lighted  and  heated  quarters  gratis, 
and  with  regular  doses  of  Uncle  Sam's  soothing 
syrup  in  the  form  of  a  fifty-dollar  check  every 
thirty  days.  In  return,  I  am  to  train  the  ideas 
of  various  juvenile  members  of  the  Sioux  tribe 
how  to  shoot,  via  highly  colored  papers,  gifts, 
straws,  sticks,  beads,  etc.,  a  la  Froebel. 

Imagine  me !  You  must  know  that  when  I 
took  that  Civil  Service  examination  I  had  never 
seen  the  outside  of  a  kindergarten,  much  less 
[2] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

the  inside  arrangements  of  one.  I  didn't  know 
a  'gift'  from  a  Free  Will  Baptist!  But  I 
took  two  lessons  from  a  private  kindergartner 
and  with  the  aid  of  sundry  books  and  pamph 
lets  I  managed  to  pass  the  two  days'  examina 
tion.  I  even  wove  a  paper  mat,  zig-zag  design, 
a  thing  which  had  never  before  crossed  my  op 
tical  horizon.  Doubtless  it  was  easier  for  me  to 
do  it  that  way  than  straight;  it  more  closely 
resembles  my  usual  method  of  doing  things. 

If  you  have  any  extra  superlatives  getting 
rusty  for  want  of  use,  prepay  them  out  to  me 
and  I  will  use  them  in  my  next  to  describe  the 
cheek  of  me  in  coming  out  here,  eighteen  hun 
dred  miles  from  home,  to  teach  a  kindergarten, 
and  an  Indian  one  at  that.  Of  course  I  have 
been  teaching,  spasmodically,  since  I  was  six 
teen.  Like  other  girls  from  the  old  town  who 
had  sufficient  ambition  to  provide  their  own 
means  of  attending  the  academy  in  Malone,  I 
taught  part  of  each  year  and  attended  school 
the  other  half.  But  teaching  district  school  in 
the  wilds  of  northern  New  York  is  rather  in 
adequate  preparation  for  teaching  a  kinder 
garten  on  a  Sioux  reservation.  The  curricu 
lum  completely  ignored  any  working  knowledge 
of  the  pedagogue's  gospel  according  to  Froebel. 

I  will  tell  you  of  my  adventures  in  the  new 
art  later.  Up  to  the  present  time  I  have  had 
[3] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

none,  as  I  only  drove  in  to-day,  the  last  twenty- 
five  miles  being  covered  by  stage  from  Cham 
berlain,  a  small  town  whose  chief  distinction 
lies  in  the  fact  that  it  is  the  terminus  of  the 
C.,  St.  Paul  &  M.  Railway.  This  railroad  daily 
disturbs  the  Sabbath  quiet  of  innumerable  small 
towns  along  its  path.  We  passed  dozens  of 
them.  Some  I  saw,  others  were  quite  hidden  by 
the  teams  and  ponies  hitched  at  the  station. 
Those  I  did  see  were  all  alike:  muddy  tired- 
looking,  treeless  affairs,  with  one  main  street — 
Broadway,  doubtless — bordered  on  either  side 
with  one-story  frame  buildings,  each  having  an 
extension  at  the  top  to  deceive  the  passers-by 
into  thinking  they  boast  two.  The  dwelling 
houses  are  modestly  located  in  the  back  yards 
of  these  architectural  excrescences,  being,  I 
suppose,  the  Western  method  of  expressing  the 
Eastern  principle  of  business  first  and  home 
where  there  is  room  for  it.  One  other  point  of 
interest  common  to  all  the  towns  I  noticed: 
the  depot  is  invariably  near  the  entrance  to 
Broadway,  and  on  the  corner  nearest  the  depot 
there  is  invariably  a  saloon.  It  occurred  to  me 
that  the  people  whose  occupation  it  is  to  de 
liver  tracts  might  do  a  profitable  business  out 
here. 

At  Mitchell  our  train  stopped  for  two  hours 
to  allow  the  passengers  to  visit  the  Corn  Belt 
[4] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

Festival,  then  in  full  swing.  I  observed  then, 
and  have  since,  that  while  the  girl  from  our 
Middle  West  nearly  always  looks  nice  and  up- 
to-date,  the  young  men  give  the  impression  of 
having  just  arrived  from  year-before-last. 

I  got  into  Chamberlain  in  the  evening,  re 
maining  there  over  night,  as  the  stage  for  the 
school  leaves  at  eight  each  morning.  I  was  the 
only  passenger,  so  the  driver,  a  young  jehu  in 
overalls,  piled  the  luggage  and  mail  sacks  on 
the  rear  seat  and  gallantly  assisted  me  to  a 
place  beside  himself. 

As  I  had  arrived  within  twenty-five  miles  of 
my  destination  without  the  slightest  idea  of 
what  the  place  was  like,  I  was  somewhat  curi 
ous,  and  naturally  began  asking  questions  of 
the  first  person  I  had  met  who  was  in  a  position 
to  give  me  the  desired  information.  The  first 
item  of  interest  I  obtained  was  the  fact  that 
"  the  superintendent  and  the  agent  are  in  a 
devil  of  a  row  and  the  superintendent  has  to  get 
out."  When  pressed  for  particulars  my  pri 
vate  bureau  of  information  proved  rather  defi 
cient  in  details.  For  his  part  he  didn't  like  the 
superintendent;  he  was  too  polite.  He  raised 
his  hat  every  five  minutes  whether  anyone  was 
about  or  not.  As  I  did  not  think  that  a  matter 
worth  government  investigation,  I  decided  to 
suspend  judgment  till  better  informed. 
[5] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

I  discovered  that  I  was  one  of  three  teachers 
and  that  the  school  consisted  of  about  one  hun 
dred  and  twenty-five  pupils,  with  a  force  of 
some  twenty  employees.  I  also  learned  that 
school  was  in  session  and  that  I  had  been  ex 
pected  for  some  time,  the  superintendent's  wife 
substituting  till  I  should  arrive.  I  was  glad  to 
hear  that.  Being  eighteen  hundred  miles  from 
everything  which  had  made  up  my  life  for 
twenty-three  years,  it  gave  me  a  comfortable 
feeling  to  know  that  someone  was  looking  for 
me. 

The  horses  covered  the  miles  of  dusty  desert 
in  much  better  time  than  their  general  appear 
ance  had  led  me  to  expect,  and  we  sighted  the 
Indian  School  just  as  my  appetite  sounded  the 
first  call  for  luncheon.  Looming  high  on  a 
neighboring  hill  was  the  big  water  tank  into 
which  is  pumped  the  water  for  the  school.  The 
various  buildings  of  the  agency  and  school  are 
painted  the  color  my  little  niece  calls  a  "  dark 
white,"  while  the  roofs  are  a  bright  red.  I  was 
delighted  to  see  trees,  plenty  of  them,  with  the 
foliage  showing  beautiful  colors,  as  befitted  the 
season.  The  Missouri  flows  beside  the  school, 
and  you  don't  know  how  good  it  looked  to  me. 
I  had  begun  to  think  I  should  never  see  trees  or 
a  river  again. 

I  had  lunch  with  the  agent's  wife,  a  sweet, 
[6] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

tired-looking  little  woman.  She  also  gave  me 
the  information  that  the  superintendent  over  at 
the  school  had  '  to  get  out.'  I  presently  found 
myself  in  the  agent's  office,  answering  sundry 
questions  regarding  my  health,  age,  morals, 
family,  the  whereabouts  of  my  husband  if  I  had 
one,  or  in  case  I  didn't,  a  good  and  sufficient 
reason  for  the  deficiency.  This  valuable  addi 
tion  to  the  agent's  seemingly  superior  knowl 
edge  was  entered  in  a  big,  red-tapey  looking 
book,  to  be  used  against  me,  perhaps,  when  my 
time  comes  for  "  getting  out."  Just  now  I  feel 
that  I  cannot  '  get '  any  too  soon.  I  have  had 
dinner,  have  met  the  school  people,  including  the 
United  States  Indian  Inspector  who  is  conduct 
ing  the  "getting  out"  proceedings,  and  am  now 
in  my  room  hanging  onto  myself  for  dear  life. 
The  glory  of  my  dreams  has  departed,  taking 
along  the  haloes  from  my  '  Wild  Indians  '  and 
leaving  me  stranded,  desolate,  in  the  midst  of 
tame  ones.  For  they  are  tame,  O !  so  tame ! 
That  much  I  have  discovered  already.  My  tow 
locks  are  as  safe  here  as  in  the  dead  old  town. 
If  there  is  any  hair-raising  done  I  shall  have  to 
do  it  myself. 

I  am   apprehensive  that  if  I  had  the   fare 

home  the  superintendent's  wife  would  continue 

substituting.    I  am  asking  myself,  shall  I  stay? 

Can  I  stay?     I  have  to  stay  till  I  earn  money 

[7] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

enough  to  take  me  back.  It  seems  the  majority 
of  the  employees  here  are  from  the  Middle 
West.  They  told  me  at  dinner,  as  a  joke,  of  a 
kindergartner  from  Boston  who  came  on  one 
stage  and  left  on  the  next.  I  don't  know  as 
there  is  any  fundamental  difference,  diet  ex- 
cepted,  in  kindergartners  from  Boston  and  New 
York,  but  I  think  I  comprehend  her  attitude. 
She  evidently  had  sufficient  foresight  to  provide 
a  return  ticket. 

"  What  fools  these  mortals  be."  I  wish  the 
immortal  bard  had  had  the  courage  to  strength 
en  his  vocabulary.  The  idea  of  handing  out  an 
adjectiveless  adage,  anyway!  I  made  so  many 
good  resolutions  on  the  way  out.  I  might  have 
known  the  futility  of  so  doing,  for  I  never  made 
one  yet  that  I  didn't  smash  up  and  contribute 
as  my  share  towards  the  paving  of  the  broad 
way.  And  that  is  needless  generosity,  for  sure 
ly  that  highway  is  sufficiently  smooth  and  slip 
pery.  I  resolved  to  be  brave,  to  come  out  here 
and  '  do  things '  and  show  the  '  stay-at- 
homes  '  a  thing  or  two,  and  here  I  am  as  brave 
as  a  sheep  and  with  the  feeling  that  my  back 
bone  has  mysteriously  changed  to  corn  meal 
mush,  a  thing  I  always  detested,  even  when  put 
to  legitimate  uses.  The  consciousness  that  I 
was  acting  like  a  fool  doesn't  help  the  situation 
any. 

[8] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

I  am  going  to  stay !  My  mind  has  done  an 
unaccustomed  amount  of  work  in  the  last  few 
minutes  and  the  result  is — I  am  going  to  stay. 
They  shall  not  tell  my  successor  of  the  kinder- 
gartner  from  New  York  who  stayed  over  night 
and  departed  on  her  way.  And  I  shall  put  up 
the  best  bluff  in  the  kindergarten  line  of  which 
I  am  capable.  I  know  we  sit  in  a  circle  and 
play  singy  games  and  imitate  the  birds  of  the 
air  and  the  beasts  of  the  field;  for  the  rest  I 
shall  have  to  trust  my  Yankee  ingenuity. 
Surely  not  in  vain  do  I  boast — at  least  half  of 
me  does — an  ancestry  of  pure  Yankee  stock. 
The  other  half,  being  Scotch,  doesn't  brag;  it 
furnishes  the  pig-headed  obstinacy  which  up  to 
now  has  been  my  undoing.  If  I  can  succeed  in 
diverting  its  main  current  into  the  broad  chan 
nel  of  self-reliance,  it  may  do  something  for  me 
beside  serving  as  a  good  conductor  of  trouble. 
What  do  you  think? 

Please  do  not  get  alarmed  or  unduly  con 
ceited  at  my  writing  at  such  length.  It  was 
write  or  explode,  and  even  leaving  my  feelings 
out  of  the  question,  I  knew  you  would  prefer 
the  former.  If  you  only  knew  how  hungrily  I 
shall  watch  for  the  stage  and  mail  sacks  at 
noon! 

Forlornly  yours, 

JEAN. 
[9] 


RlVEE   BOAEDING    SCHOOL, 

CEOW  RIVEE,  So.  DAKOTA 

OCT.  — ,  19—. 
DEAE: 

Aurelius  says  that  "  Where  a  man  can  live, 
there  he  can  also  live  well."  I  dislike  to  confess 
a  doubt  regarding  the  soundness  of  my  friend's 
philosophy,  yet  I  can't  help  wishing  he  could 
have  visited  Crow  River  previous  to  its  utter 
ance.  He  remarks  in  the  same  breath  that  "  To 
seek  the  impossible  is  madness,"  and  with  that 
I  most  heartily  agree.  It  is  impossible  to  live 
well  here,  and  it  is  madness  to  attempt  it.  I 
have  passed  all  the  stages  of  homesickness  I 
know  of,  and  if  there  are  any  more,  I  humbly 
beg  to  be  excused.  During  a  lucid  interval  I 
wrote  home  for  money  to  return,  but  destroyed 
the  letter  when  the  madness  came  on  again.  I 
know  a  bathtub  of  nice,  clean,  warm  water 
would  work  wonders  for  me,  mentally,  morally 
and  physically,  but  it  is  among  the  impossibili 
ties.  The  water  is  strongly  alkali,  and  if  you 
use  it  without  soap,  it  contributes  a  sediment  of 
its  own  to  the  grime  already  present  and  per- 
[11] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

suades  the  combination  that  its  present  quar 
ters  are  quite  suitable.  If  you  use  soap,  as  I 
did,  the  skin  gets  so  hard  and  dry  that  it  cracks 
open.  My  hands  were  a  sight  in  a  week,  and  so 
sore !  As  for  drinking  the  stuff,  that  is  impos 
sibility  number  one  hundred  and  seventeen.  I 
am  reasonably  sure  that  number  is  correct,  but 
I  gave  up  counting  at  ninety-eight. 

Give  the  problem  of  existence  to  half  a  hun 
dred  people,  isolate  them,  subtract  all  worldly 
amusements,  add  daily  discomforts  and  petty 
annoyances,  and  must  the  process  of  solution 
be  marked  by  moral  carnage  and  official  blood 
shed?  It  would  seem  so.  The  school  and 
agency  forces  are  at  it  tooth  and  nail!  The 
agent  is  fighting  to  get  the  superintendent  out, 
and  the  superintendent  is  fighting  to  stay.  I 
can  almost  hear  you  smile.  It  does  seem  ridic 
ulous,  fighting  to  stay  in  such  a  place;  but  re 
member  this  is  the  problem  of  existence.  It  is 
easy  to  laugh  at  someone  else's  solution  of  it; 
it  is  the  ciphers  in  our  own  figuring  that  ap 
pear  to  our  selfish  sensibilities  as  deserving  of 
sympathy. 

The  agent  has  rather  the  better  of  it,  for 
while  the  superintendent  is  under  Civil  Service 
and  good  behavior,  he  is  appointed  and  holds 
his  position  as  long  as  a  Republican  adminis 
tration  reposes  at  Washington.  The  prospects 
[12] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

are  excellent  for  our  continued  enjoyment  of 
his  society,  as  the  Republican  party  is  the  star 
actor  in  the  continuous  performance  of  our 
political  vaudeville,  with  the  dozen  or  so  lesser 
ones  to  furnish  the  chorus  and  scenic  effects. 

I  have  a  suspicion  that  the  primary  object 
of  the  United  States  Indian  Service  is  to  clad 
"  Poor  Lo's  "  moccasined  feet  in  patent  lea 
thers,  that  his  footsteps  in  the  path  of  progress 
may  be  as  deep  and  lasting  and  uncomfortable 
as  his  white  brother's  are.  It  might  occur  to 
an  interested  observer  that  the  majority  of  the 
employes  sent  here  to  assist  in  the  desired  pedal 
transformation  are  laboring  wrong  end  to! 
They  are  demonstrating  all  too  plainly  where 
the  civilized  shoe  pinches.  They  were  sent  here 
by  a  paternal  government  to  teach  the  arts  of 
peace  and  civilization,  and  instead  are  raging 
like  heathen.  Just  what  the  trouble  is  I  can 
not  tell  you.  My  unsophisticated  brain  refused 
to  deduce  one  logical  conclusion  from  the  chaos 
of  information  it  has  had  poured  into  it  the 
past  week.  I  have  smiled  and  looked  sympa 
thetic  during  the  recitals  of  the  various  belli 
gerents,  but  for  once  I  have  managed  to  keep 
my  opinions  to  myself.  Please  give  me  due 
credit,  for,  as  you  know,  my  opinions  are  alto 
gether  too  ready  to  exploit  themselves  on  all 
[13] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

occasions,  and  this  unusual  muzzling  of  them 
has  made  me  feel  as  tho  my  brain  was  done  up 
in  curl  papers. 

His  majesty,  the  United  States  Indian  In 
spector,  occupies  the  room  which  is  to  be  mine, 
smokes  strong  cigars  and  listens  to  tales  of 
woe.  I  suppose  when  the  evidence  is  all  in,  the 
last  grievance  aired,  he  will  send  his  verdict  to 
the  Honorable  Commissioner  at  Washington, 
shake  the  dust  of  Crow  River  from  his  trousers, 
and  leave  his  room  "  to  darkness  and  to  me." 
Meanwhile,  I  am  quartered  at  Superintendent 
Marks',  doing  my  level  best  to  let  Mrs.  Marks 
succeed  in  her  efforts  to  make  me  feel  less  like 
"  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land."  Mrs.  Marks 
is  an  oasis  of  peace  in  this  desert  of  strife.  She 
has  transplanted  her  sunny  Southern  tempera 
ment  and  genial  ways  to  this  barren  soil  and 
they  thrive  wonderfully  well.  Possibly  her 
tears  furnish  the  moisture  necessary  for  their 
growth.  I  have  found  that  the  right  kind  of 
tears — the  kind  a  brave  woman  sheds  to  get  the 
weakness  out  and  the  courage  in — will  develop 
more  virtues  than  a  volume  of  sermons.  Any 
way,  Mrs.  Marks  manages  to  keep  her  temper 
and  her  accent,  and  both  are  a  great  comfort 
to  me. 

Mr.  Marks,  poor  man,  looks  worried  to 
death,  and  I  don't  wonder.  Some  people  are 
[14] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

born  old  maids,  some  achieve  old  maidhood,  and 
some  have  old  maids  thrust  upon  them.  Mr. 
Marks  is  one  of  these  last  poor  unfortunates. 
About  nine-tenths  of  the  women  here  are  of  the 
Kingdom  of  Single  Blessedness,  while  the  other 
tenth  are  alienated  halves  of  matrimonial  mis 
fits.  Now  pray  tell  me  what  chance  does  a  poor 
married  man  stand?  If  the  Department  at 
Washington  was  half  wise,  it  would  instruct  its 
Indian  school  superintendents  to  leave  their 
wives  at  home.  Mrs.  Marks  is  pleasant  and 
courteous  to  all,  but  I  know  she  is  boiling  in 
ternally,  for  some  of  these  very  females  have 
joined  forces  with  the  agency  employees,  divid 
ing  the  school  against  itself,  which  doesn't  add 
to  the  general  comfort.  It  is  not  particularly 
pleasant  to  have  to  sit  at  table  three  times  daily 
with  people  who  are  laboring  industriously  to 
make  your  chair  a  vacant  one. 

I  have  been  trying  the  past  few  days  to  puz 
zle  out  the  cause  of  the  disturbance  here.  There 
may  be  no  reason  for  the  happening  of  un 
pleasant  things,  but  there  is  usually  a  cause. 
The  general  cussedness  of  human  nature  will 
account  for  nearly  everything  under  the  sun, 
yet  there  is  generally  some  specific  agency  lend 
ing  a  helping  hand,  and  in  this  case  I  think  it 
is  dirt.  What  I  said  about  His  Majesty's 
trousers  was  meant  literally.  Dust  is  the  most 
[15] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

obvious  thing  here,  Indians  excepted.  It  forms 
a  large  part  of  our  diet,  it  mixes  generously 
with  the  air  we  breathe,  it  is  the  medium  thru 
which  we  move  and  have  our  being.  You  can 
no  more  escape  it  than  you  can  resist  the  temp 
tation  to  appropriately  express  your  opinion 
of  it.  It  adheres  affectionately  to  your  gar 
ments  by  day  and  hovers  lovingly  above  your 
pillow  at  night.  As  for  your  stockings,  they 
have  openly  deserted  and  gone  wholeheartedly 
into  the  real  estate  business.  It  is  a  fine  sur 
face  dust — gumbo,  they  call  it — which  has  no 
fixed  place  of  habitation,  but  wanders  about 
seeking  whom  it  may  provoke  to  unseemly  lan 
guage.  It  accomplished  its  mission  with  me  in 
about  three  minutes  after  my  arrival.  I  never 
before  felt  so  keenly  the  defects  of  my  vocabu 
lary. 

I  reported  for  duty  on  the  25th.  Please  note 
my  military  expression,  as  you  probably  will 
hear  more  of  them.  It  would  seem  to  suggest 
heroes  and  brass  buttons,  but  alas!  it  is  only  a 
suggestion.  The  buttons  we  have,  to  be  sure — 
every  Indian  lad's  uniform  boasts  at  least  a 
dozen,  but  there  are  no  heroes  buttoned  up  in 
side  or  I  lose  my  reputation  as  a  prophet. 

I  went  to  the  school  building  the  first  morn 
ing  with  a  very  mushy  feeling  inside — don't 
suppose  it  could  be  outside — and  in  ten  min- 
[16] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

utes  had  successfully  made  my  first  blunder. 
Mrs.  Rowling,  one  of  the  teachers,  asked  me  to 
stay  with  her  pupils  while  she  went  to  the  office 
to  sign  payroll.  I  wish  I  could  make  you  see 
that  group  of  brown  statuary,  silent,  motion 
less,  expressionless  except  for  eyes.  They 
watched  my  every  motion  with  an  attention 
that  never  wandered  for  an  instant.  Thinking 
their  unbiased  opinion  of  me  might  prove  help 
ful,  I  began  to  question  them.  Not  a  sign  did 
they  give  that  they  heard  me.  I  drew  a  picture 
on  the  blackboard,  they  showed  no  interest. 
Pictures  they  evidently  were  accustomed  to,  I 
was  something  new.  I  happened  to  have  on  my 
chatelain,  and  I  took  out  a  penny  and  held  it 
up.  I  could  fairly  feel  the  electric  shock  that 
went  thru  them.  A  dozen  brown  hands  shot 
into  the  air  and  "  Me,  me,"  came  from  all  parts 
of  the  room.  I  had  found  one  thing  that  would 
make  them  sit  up  and  take  notice.  I  knew  that 
*  money  talks,'  but  I  was  unprepared  for  such 
a  show  of  eloquence.  For  days  afterward  my 
appearance  on  the  campus  was  simultaneous 
with  a  rush  of  baby  Los,  demanding  of  me  good 
coin  of  the  realm.  Mrs.  Rowling  translated 
their  request,  their  English  being  of  a  variety 
quite  unknown  to  me.  They  have  the  queerest 
little  guttural  voices!  Their  speech  seems  to 
start  from  the  soles  of  their  government  boots, 
[17] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

working  its  way  painfully  upward  till  when 
it  emerges  its  energy  is  spent  and  it  collapses 
into  an  unintelligible  mumble. 

Dear,  it  would  make  your  heart  ache,  as  it 
does  mine,  to  see  the  circle  of  tame  little  sav 
ages  that  surrounds  me  every  morning.  Poor 
little  babies,  so  patiently  enduring  the  penalty 
of  "  the  iniquities  of  the  fathers."  I  have  forty 
of  them,  and  there  is  not  one  whose  bad 
blood  is  not  in  bodily  evidence.  We  had  a 
warm  spell  last  week  and  the  boys  came  to 
school  barefoot,  and  behold!  the  lad  who  sits 
next  me  in  the  circle  and  whose  hand  I  hold  in 
the  games  had  the  itch  so  bad  that  he  couldn't 
tell  where  to  scratch  first.  They  have  boils  and 
swellings  and  sore  eyes.  It's  a  lucky  little 
brave  who  isn't  done  up  somewhere.  I  thought 
at  first  I  should  not  be  able  to  overcome  the 
physical  repulsion  I  felt,  but  it  is  gradually 
wearing  away.  One  dear  little  girl  came,  led 
by  the  hand,  with  both  eyes  bandaged.  She 
sat  with  her  hands  clasped  in  such  sweet  meek 
ness  that  I  could  not  help  but  take  her  in  my 
arms.  She  scarcely  moved  as  long  as  I  held 
her.  The  girls  show  their  affection  much  as 
any  children  would,  but  the  boys  are  usually 
little  graven  images. 

The  most  of  my  morning  class  do  not  speak 
English,  and  if  they  understand  it,  or  me,  they 
[18] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

conceal  the  fact  wonderfully  well.  I  keep 
some  of  the  bright  ones  in  the  afternoon  divi 
sion  to  interpret  for  me,  little  Maria  Ghost 
Bear  being  my  chief  medium  of  communication. 
She  has  a  very  active  brain  in  her  small  brown 
head,  and  her  eyes  fairly  sparkle  with  mischief. 
She  openly  makes  sport  of  me,  and  I  know  she 
interprets  a  lot  I  never  say,  for  the  class  will 
laugh  in  the  most  unexpected  places.  She 
is  the  leader  in  all  our  games  and  songs.  The 
songs  are  my  salvation,  for  while  you  can't 
make  these  images  talk,  they  will  sing  anything 
you  teach  them.  They  seem  to  enjoy  the  games 
I  invent  for  them  fully  as  well  as  the  ones  my 
predecessor,  a  real  kindergartner,  taught  them. 
There  is  a  wheezy  old  organ  in  the  room  and  it 
would  add  to  your  store  of  memories  treasured 
up  for  old  age  if  you  could  hear  us  when  or 
gan,  papooses,  and  I  are  doing  our  utmost  to 
waken  Crow  River  from  her  morning  nap.  I 
say  "  papooses  "  out  of  consideration  for  you, 
for  it  is  a  word  of  English  coining  and  the  In 
dians  almost  never  use  it. 

A  new  actor  has  appeared  on  my  two-by- 
four  stage,  who  rejoices  in  the  name  of  Harold 
Bobtailed  Goose.  In  all  his  seven  years  he  has 
never  seen  a  fair-haired  person,  and  he  is  actu 
ally  afraid  of  me.  I  don't  attempt  to  go  near 
him,  for  he  yells  louder  if  he  catches  me  looking 
[19] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

his  way.  Talk  about  your  stolid  Indians !  they 
can  lift  up  their  voices  and  weep  louder  and 
longer  and  with  a  greater  degree  of  enthusiasm 
than  any  specimen  of  humanity  I've  seen  yet. 
Harold  howled  all  the  first  forenoon  and 
showed  no  signs  of  stopping  when  I  dismissed 
the  class  for  dinner.  Poor  little  chap,  I  would 
like  to  see  things  from  his  point  of  view.  I 
know  he  hates  me,  and  I  don't  blame  him. 
What  right  have  we  to  forcibly  pick  him  up 
from  the  path  nature  intended  him  to  follow 
and  set  him  right  about  face  on  the  road  to 
civilization?  It  seems  a  sad  thing  to  me  that 
the  path  by  which  the  Indian  is  to  advance 
must  be  marked  by  the  sorrows  and  heartaches 
of  the  children  who  are  to  blaze  the  trail  for 
future  generations.  No  doubt  the  visiting 
cards  of  Harold  the  Second  will  read,  "  Mr. 
B.  T.  Harold  Goose,"  and  the  woes  of  the  pres 
ent  Harold  will  be  amply  justified.  Let  us  be 
charitable  and  hope  so. 

Most  uncharitably  yours, 

JEAN. 


[20] 


RlVEE   BOAEDING    SCHOOL, 

So.  DAKOTA 

Nov.  6,  19—. 
DEAR: 

This  has  been  a  gray  day.  It  has  rained  and 
rained,  till  even  the  dust  has  settled  down  with 
a  sort  of  discouraged,  give-up-flying  air.  My 
one  pet  corn  aches  like  the  mischief,  and  all  my 
mental  corns  are  twinging  mightily  to  remind 
me  that  they  still  do  business  at  the  old  stand. 
Back  in  my  childhood  days  they  taught  me  that 
the  membrane  lining  the  organs  of  the  body 
was  red.  Mine  isn't;  it's  a  dirty  brindle  gray, 
and  all  my  wasted  tears  haven't  changed  the 
color  the  remotest  shadow  of  a  tint!  I  ought 
to  know,  for  this  far  I  have  shed  more  good 
tears  to  the  square  inch  of  my  life  than  most 
people  do  to  the  acre. 

O,  I  know  psychologists  tell  us  that  our  liv 
ers  are  to  blame  for  the  tricks  our  brains  play 
on  us,  and  that  what  I  need  is  not  sympathy, 
but  a  good  dose  of  calomel.  However,  I  am 
not  particularly  interested  in  the  cause,  but  the 
result  claims  my  attention,  whether  or  no.  My 
[21] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

digestive  apparatus  has  struck  for  dustless 
food,  and  the  muscles  of  my  face  have  had 
numerous  lockj  aw  for  so  long  that  I  have  about 
as  much  expression  as  a  compressed  yeastcake. 
If  I  could  see  any  prospects  of  a  clearing-up 
shower  it  wouldn't  matter  so  much,  but  every 
where  I  look  I  see  the  same  gray  horizon  limit 
ing  my  future  existence.  Dust  and  Indians  and 
official  investigation  are  my  portion  and  I  am 
expected  to  return  thanks !  Never !  I  have  to 
do  it  every  morning  for  a  hundred  and  forty 
uncomprehending  Sioux,  and  surely  fate  must 
be  sufficiently  propitiated  by  such  wholesale 
gratitude. 

Whenever  I  feel  especially  called  upon  to 
render  thanks  for  mercies  vouchsafed,  I  put  on 
my  most  unbecoming  neck-ribbon  and  read  the 
Rubaiyat.  It's  comforting  to  know  that 
Omar's  equivalent  for  dust  and  Indians  had 
precisely  the  same  effect  on  him  that  mine  have. 
Isn't  it  strange  that  for  all  these  countless 
years  people  must  experience  the  same  mental 
processes,  the  same  doubts  and  fears,  must 
direct  the  same  kicks  against  a  fate  so  much 
stronger  than  they?  It  seems  a  terrible  waste 
of  energy  to  me.  Omar  is  a  great  comfort  to 
me,  tho.  His  kicks  are  models  of  precision  and 
force,  and  hit  the  mark  beautifully.  When  you 
slam  a  door,  slam  it  hard,  or  what's  the  use? 
[22] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

Omar  shut  his  so  hard  that  the  echo  has  come 
sounding  down  the  ages  and  penetrates  my 
*  furnished  quarters '  at  the  Crow  River 
Boarding  School. 

Only  yesterday  Mrs.  Marks  said  to  me,  "  It 
is  so  nice  of  you  to  come  here  and  persist  in 
making  the  best  of  everything."  She  fairly 
took  my  breath  away.  I  must  be  a  gay  de 
ceiver  sure.  I  do  laugh  and  talk  nonsense  in 
public,  but  I  didn't  suppose  I  deceived  anyone 
by  doing  it.  It's  easy  enough  to  get  up  spurts 
of  bravery  to  tide  you  over  unexpected  high 
places,  but  the  unwavering  courage  for  every 
day  life  is  a  hard  proposition  to  me.  You  will 
laugh  when  I  tell  you  what  caused  my  tears  to 
flow  publicly  the  other  day.  I  was  over  at  the 
rectory — there  is  an  Episcopal  mission  here — 
and  on  the  front  porch  was  a  nice,  big,  homey- 
looking  cat,  and  I  just  picked  him  up  and  cried 
into  his  soft  fur.  Don't  ask  me  why,  for  I 
don't  know. 

I  mentioned,  didn't  I,  that  I  publicly  return 
thanks  each  morning  in  behalf  of  our  tame  In 
dians?  When  Mr.  Marks  told  me  of  this  par 
ticular  duty  I  collapsed  into  his  office  chair  and 
weakly  objected.  I  told  him  it  was  strongly 
against  my  religious  principles  to  do  such  a 
thing,  but  he  only  laughed  at  me,  so  I  went  to 
my  room  and  began  work  on  sample  copies  of 
[23] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

'  grace.'  I  finally  turned  out  a  daisy,  quite 
highsounding  and  ambiguous,  for  I  didn't  want 
to  take  unfair  advantage  of  my  audience  as  I 
was  a  little  doubtful  regarding  their  degree  of 
gratitude. 

Do  you  remember  Brother  Jones  of  our 
prayer  meeting  days  in  the  old  town?  How  he 
always  got  on  his  knees  with  "  O,  Lord !  "  and 
a  groan  perfectly  audible  all  over  the  church? 
I'll  be  blessed,  on  the  first  morning  of  my  pub 
lic  devotions,  if  my  carefully  learned  "  grace  " 
did  not  take  a  graceless  leave,  and  I  stood  there 
repeating  Brother  Jones'  formula,  groan  and 
all.  I  finally  got  the  Amen  out,  which  is  the 
signal  for  one  hundred  and  forty  chairs  to  be 
pulled  out  and  an  equal  number  of  braves  de 
posited  thereon,  and  breakfast  began,  and  I  still 
lived,  weak  but  brave.  I  do  it  better  now,  but  I 
shall  never  forget  that  first  morning.  If  you 
think  this  is  funny,  or  a  good  joke  on  me,  it  is 
your  privilege  to  think  so,  but  just  let  me  know 
of  your  telling  it  and  I'll  begin  taking  scalp 
ing  lessons  against  the  time  I  come  home. 

The  trouser-shaking  ceremony  has  been  per 
formed  and  our  Honorable  Inspector  has  de 
parted  for  similar  work  elsewhere.  He  left  be 
hind  him  a  strong  odor  of  cigars,  and  a  com 
plete  exoneration  of  Mr.  Marks.  I  am  very 
[24] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

glad  of  both:  glad  that  Superintendent  Marks 
is  to  stay,  and  glad  of  the  odor,  for  it  is  the 
only  homelike  thing  about  my  room.  Smoking 
is  against  the  rules  and  regulations  of  the  In 
dian  Office  and  no  one  but  an  inspector  would 
dare  attempt  any  infringement,  and  he  only  in 
private.  Someone  ought  to  invent  an  odorless 
tobacco  especially  for  the  Indian  Service.  It 
would  benefit  employes  and  pupils  alike,  for  the 
latter  are  punished  if  they  are  caught  smoking, 
ac  many  of  them  do.  I  have  boys  in  my  kinder 
garten  who  chew,  altho  how  or  where  they  get 
the  tobacco  I  cannot  imagine.  Harold  Bob- 
tailed  Goose  has  stopped  crying,  but  sits  for 
the  most  of  the  time  with  his  hands  over  his 
face.  Such  virgin  modesty  I  never  encountered 
before.  I  haven't  put  my  hands  on  him  yet,  for 
he  still  has  spasms  if  I  come  near  his  vicinity. 
Little  Maria  Ghost  Bear  chatters  to  me  by  the 
hour.  The  girls  seem  brighter  to  learn  than 
the  boys  and  more  readily  adopt  new  customs 
and  ways  of  doing  things,  possibly  due  to  the 
instinctive  longing  for  freedom  from  the  half- 
slavery  which  their  sex  has  always  endured. 
Civilization  offers  much  to  these  little  Indian 
maidens,  and  they  are  not  slow  in  grasping 
some  of  its  customs. 

From  my  school  window  I  daily  watch  the 
[25] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

conflict  between  the  old  ways  and  the  new.  I 
dismiss  my  grade  fifteen  minutes  before  the 
other  two,  sending  the  little  girls  out  first,  but 
they  usually  hang  about  outside  till  the  boys 
come  out.  All  day  the  boys  have  endured  an 
enforced  equality  of  the  sexes,  and  now  is  their 
chance  to  get  even.  They  throw  sticks  or 
stones  or  anything  else  handy,  and  beat  the 
girl  they  can  catch.  The  queer  part  of  it  is, 
that  the  girls  seem  to  like  it,  or  why  do  they 
stay  outside?  If  a  girl  gets  captured  and  a 
beating  results,  she  takes  it  as  a  part  of  the 
day's  work,  and  goes  happily  on  her  way  to 
quarters. 

Sometimes  I  interfere,  but  not  often.  These 
little  rascals  have  their  own  problems  of  life  to 
solve,  via  Uncle  Sam's  Indian  Special,  Elevated, 
and  I  only  hope  they  do  not  make  as  dismal 
failures  of  them  as  one  of  their  instructors  has, 
so  far. 

The  Principal  Teacher — that  is  the  title  be 
stowed  by  an  all-wise  Indian  Department  on 
the  head  of  an  Indian  school's  faculty — is  Miss 
Conley.  She  occupies  the  room  adjoining 
mine,  but  that  does  not  prevent  us  from  being 
some  few  thousand  miles  apart.  It  adds  a  little 
deeper  hue  to  my  beautiful  shade  of  blues  just 
to  think  of  that  poor  woman's  life.  She  has 
[26] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

been  shooting  ideas  for  others  for  so  long  that 
her  own  have  suffered  from  want  of  attention. 
It  is  quite  natural,  I  think,  that  she  should  be  a 
a  leader  of  the  opposition  forces  here.  Her  ac 
tivities,  denied  a  proper  channel,  have  finally 
overflowed,  and  the  people  along  the  banks  of 
her  present  course  are  getting  the  benefit  of 
the  inundation.  The  source  of  the  flood  is  not 
of  sufficient  depth  to  cause  a  deluge  exactly, 
but  I  am  afraid  the  Superintendent  will  get 
wet  feet  before  it  subsides.  I  have  succeeded 
so  far  in  keeping  my  dusty  skirts  from  getting 
even  damp.  Miss  Conley  has  been  nice  to  me, 
and  I  owe  her  a  little  private  debt  of  gratitude 
for  not  having  discovered  that  I  am  only  a 
sham  kindergartner. 

To-day  I  carried  her  a  pail  of  soft  water 
and  the  tears  actually  came  into  her  eyes  when 
she  saw  me  with  it.  She  said  I  had  not  been  in 
the  service  long  enough  to  get  selfish.  It  gave 
me  a  cold  potato  feeling  in  my  stomach  to  think 
of  a  life  so  barren  that  a  little  neighborly  deed 
like  that  should  produce  such  a  result. 

Speaking  of  soft  water  reminds  me  that  Crow 
River  boasts  a  cistern.  I  only  discovered  it 
the  other  day.  It's  a  hole  in  the  ground  into 
which  the  rainwater  is  drained,  and  you  get  it 
out — the  water,  not  the  hole — with  a  rope,  a 
[27] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

pail,  infinite  patience  and  unlimited  persever 
ance.  You  finally  get  enough  to  fill  your  un 
breakable  government  pitcher,  and  you  heat  it 
in  your  little  tin  teakettle  on  the  back  of  your 
coal  stove,  and  take  a  beautiful  scrub  in  a 
basin  as  much  as  half  full,  and  go  to  bed  feel 
ing  as  tho,  after  all,  it  was  barely  possible  that 
the  law  of  compensation  might  be  in  operation 
even  in  South  Dakota. 

I  wish  to  introduce  you  to  Miss  Deering,  of 
Connecticut,  Matron  of  the  Crow  River  Board 
ing  School.  I  do  so  reverently,  with  bared 
head.  I  had  to  come  to  a  Sioux  reservation  to 
meet  the  most  beautiful  character  I  have  ever 
known.  For  eighteen  years  she  has  loved  and 
mothered  and  nursed  these  little  Indian  girls. 
Think  of  it,  eighteen  years!  She  is  the  only 
employe  who  is  not  here  "  for  revenue  only." 
Her  dear  sweet  face  is  lined  and  worn,  yet 
her  smile  is  the  most  cheerful  thing  about 
the  school.  What  a  fountain  of  strength  that 
woman  must  possess,  to  give  constantly  to 
those  incapable  of  making  any  return,  and  yet 
retain  a  supply  sufficient  to  enable  her  to  live 
happily  in  a  hole  like  this.  She  deserves  a  halo 
if  ever  a  saint  did,  and  I  only  wish  I  had  the 
material  and  power  to  make  her  one. 

The  Indians  are  holding  their  annual  scalp 

[28] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

dance,  or  sun  dance,  or  war  dance,  I  don't  know 
which,  but  anyway  it's  a  dance  and  the  braves 
have  gathered  from  all  parts  of  the  reserva 
tion.  They  bring  along  their  dogs  and  babies 
and  tent  out  for  the  week.  It  is  a  sort  of 
Methodist  camp-meeting  twice  removed;  not 
quite  so  noisy,  perhaps,  but  sufficiently  so  to 
invite  the  comparison.  Some  of  us  expressed 
our  ardent  desire  to  drive  the  eight  miles  to 
the  place  of  encampment,  so  Mr.  Johnson  kind 
ly  volunteered  to  act  as  escort.  Mr.  Johnson 
is  the  only  white  man  at  the  school  who  boasts 
a  baby,  so  naturally  we  felt  honored.  We 
started  soon  after  dark.  All  the  stage  settings 
for  a  first  rate  melodrama  were  present,  but 
for  the  life  of  me  I  couldn't  get  into  the  proper 
spirit.  The  dusty  plains,  the  shining  stars,  the 
lonely  tepees,  the  darkness  and  uncertainty 
were  all  there,  and  yet  I  couldn't  persuade  a 
single  thrill  to  go  shivering  along  my  spine,  as 
thrills  are  supposed  to  do  on  such  occasions. 
That's  just  like  my  spine,  to  play  such  a  trick 
on  me.  It  is  sure  to  flop  over  just  when  I  have 
it  nicely  braced  for  an  occasion.  It  will  soon 
be  as  erratic  as  my  kindergarten  methods. 

The  hundred  or  more  dogs  of  the  encamp 
ment  came   out  to   greet   us   and  escorted  us 
thru  the  tepees  to  the  place  where  the  Indians 
[29] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

were  dancing.  Greatly  to  my  surprise,  the 
ceremonies  were  conducted  inside  a  building, 
much  like  a  barn,  only  with  a  turf  floor.  Only 
the  chiefs  and  their  families  were  allowed  in 
side,  the  common  herd  watched  performances 
thru  the  windows.  We  elbowed  our  way  thru 
the  crowd,  no  one  paying  the  slightest  atten 
tion  to  us,  except  the  dogs. 

A  fat,  good-natured  squaw  kindly  gave  me 
her  place  at  the  window  and  I  '  peeked '  in. 
The  chiefs,  in  various  kinds  of  dress  and  un 
dress,  were  dancing  slowly  around  a  fire  in  the 
center  of  the  room.  At  one  side,  surrounded 
by  a  circle  of  squaws,  was  a  big  kettle  of  soup 
from  which  all  present  helped  themselves  with 
tin  cups  when  so  inclined.  And  that  was  all. 
The  glory,  the  significance  of  these  dances  have 
long  since  departed,  and  only  mockery  remains. 
The  Indians  dance  only  by  permission  of  the 
Indian  Agent,  the  soup  they  eat  is  made  of 
government  beans,  and  their  every  motion  is 
controlled  by  red  tape  reaching  out  from 
Washington  to  bind  and  hold  them  in  submis 
sion.  I  suppose  they  realize  this  and  carry 
heavy  hearts  under  their  buckskin  jackets.  I 
felt  sorry  for  them  and  wanted  to  tell  them  so, 
but  as  I  don't  speak  Dakota  I  was  afraid  they 
might  misconstrue  my  meaning. 
[30] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

Last  week  I  was  detailed  to  take  a  wheelbar 
row  and  a  couple  of  dozen  budding  Sioux  over 
the  campus,  with  instructions  to  have  them  col 
lect  such  sticks  and  stones  as  we  might  come 
across.  I  found  my  command  lined  up  on  the 
sunny  side  of  small  boys'  quarters  and  called 
cheerily  to  them  to  '  come  on.'  They  mutely 
objected.  I  collared  a  fair  sized  brave  and  put 
him  in  command  of  the  wheelbarrow,  then  by 
physical  persuasion  I  got  my  detail  into  action. 
Passing  around  the  corner  of  the  building, 
where  I  got  a  cheerful  grin  from  Mr.  Marks, 
we  emerged  on  the  open  battle  ground  of  the 
campus.  I  immediately  discovered  that  from 
general  to  private,  every  last  one  of  my  com 
mand  was  color  blind.  A  big  piece  of  white 
paper  looked  to  them  like  mother  earth,  while 
sticks  and  stones  were  as  tho  they  were  not.  I 
armed  myself  with  a  big  stick,  and  pointed 
out  the  articles  I  wanted  collected.  We  made 
but  slow  progress,  yet  our  vehicle  showed 
the  nucleus  of  a  load,  when  I  suddenly  noticed 
that  my  force  had  decreased  by  half.  Every 
time  I  tried  to  get  up  personal  relations  be 
tween  a  boy  and  a  stick  or  stone,  several  other 
boys  would  improve  the  opportunity  to  retreat 
in  double  quick  time.  You  might  as  well  try 
to  control  as  many  angleworms.  They  have 
the  same  facility  for  slipping  thru  your  fingers. 
[31] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

Not  wishing  to  confess  myself  defeated,  I 
rallied  the  remnant  of  my  band  and  struggled 
on.  But  the  acquisition  of  every  stick  cost  me 
a  man,  and  the  number  of  casualties  was  alarm 
ingly  on  the  increase.  Thinking  a  retreat  ad 
visable,  I  ordered  my  command  right  about 
face  and  we  started  back  to  quarters.  The 
wheelbarrow  and  I  arrived  in  safety,  but  the 
rest  of  the  force  was  a  minus  quantity.  The 
earth  had  opened  and  swallowed  them  up,  and 
I  went  to  the  Superintendent  and  so  reported. 
He  regarded  my  load  of  trophies  with  a 
thoughtful  smile,  and  remarked  that  I  was 
capable  of  doing  better  things.  I  had  private 
ly  thought  so  myself,  and  it  was  a  satisfaction 
to  have  my  opinion  corroborated. 

You  may  construe  his  remark  differently  if 
you  choose,  but  when  I  see  a  nice  speech  wan 
dering  doubtfully  about,  I  am  going  to  make 
it  my  business  to  stop  it  and  take  it  home  with 
me.  When  the  collection  gets  large  enough,  I 
shall  condense  it  and  make  a  motto  out  of  it 
and  hang  it  on  the  wall  to  be  obliterated  with 
Crow  River  dust,  which  fate  is,  I  suppose,  the 
'  common  lot  of  all.'  And  speaking  of  dust 
reminds  me  that  I  have  the  day's  dirt  still  with 
me,  patiently  awaiting  an  introduction  to  the 
water  in  my  teakettle.  May  the  choicest  of 
blessings  be  reserved  for  the  Honorable  Mem- 
[32] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

ber  of  Congress  who  shall  have  the  courage 
to  stand  up  and  recommend  that  some  bath 
tubs  be  sent  to  the  Crow  River  Boarding 
School.  The  man  who  does  it  may  have  my 
motto,  gratis. 

Generously  yours, 

JEAN. 


[33] 


CROW  RIVER  BOARDING  SCHOOL, 
So.  DAKOTA 

JAN.  26,  19—. 

DEAR: 

Things  are  happening  out  here !  Yesterday, 
on  the  banks  of  the  beautiful,  muddy  Mis 
souri,  Harold  Bobtailed  Goose  smiled  at  me! 
A  nice  big,  expansive  smile,  which  cleared  away 
the  clouds  of  misunderstanding  which  have  hov 
ered  over  us  since  our  introduction  three 
months  ago. 

I  had  taken  my  class  out  for  a  walk  thru 
the  dust  and  cockle  burrs  to  the  river  to  see  if 
its  complexion  had  cleared  any  since  I  last  saw 
it,  and  on  the  way  we  ran  into  a  drove  of  pigs. 
They  scattered,  squealing,  in  every  direction 
and  as  I  turned  about,  laughing,  to  watch  them, 
I  caught  Harold's  eye  and  he  pointed  to  the 
running  pigs  and  said,  *  Kakusha,  Kakusha.' 
Our  souls  have  at  last  found  a  medium  of  com 
munication  and  hereafter  I  know  we  shall  get 
on  famously  together. 

Kakusha  is  the  first  Dakota  word  in  my 
vocabulary,  and  I  had  to  have  an  object  lesson 
[35] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

to  learn  that.  Harold  has  taught  me  more 
than  I  have  him,  for  to  my  knowledge  he  has 
never  pronounced  an  English  syllable.  To 
morrow  I  am  going  to  try  to  have  him  say 
'  pig,'  and  we  shall  be  quits.  Poor  little  Har 
old!  His  body  is  covered  with  inherited  sores, 
the  flesh  of  his  hands  has  great  cracks  in  it 
from  washing  in  the  ice-cold  alkali  water.  He 
can't  appreciate  the  fact  that  he  is  immeasur 
ably  better  here  than  he  could  possibly  be  at 
home,  and  he  hates  us  with  the  instinctive 
hatred  of  his  conquered  race.  Poor,  little,  sor 
rowful  chap! 

Last  week  had  a  red  letter  day.  We  were 
paid  off.  Something  went  wrong  with  the 
financial  machinery  and  we  have  been  penniless 
for  three  months.  As  that  includes  all  of  my 
time  here,  you  may  perhaps  imagine  the  condi 
tion  of  my  pocketbook.  Government  employees 
are  paid  their  salaries  in  nice  blue  checks  which 
are  cashable  anywhere.  As  we  don't  happen 
to  be  anywhere,  we  have  to  depend  on  the 
agency  store  for  banking  facilities.  I  took 
my  three  checks  over  and  got  the  value  there 
of,  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  in  silver,  with 
a  soiled  cloth  bag  to  put  it  in.  Did  you  ever 
happen  to  carry  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
in  dollars,  half-dollars  and  quarters,  and  shake 
it  as  you  walked  to  keep  step  with  the  jingle? 
[36] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

And  to  the  blessed  consciousness  that  I  had 
earned  the  last  cent  of  it  by  the  sweat  of 
my  brow  and  the  dust  collected  thereon,  was 
added  the  blessed  consciousness  that  it  was 
all  mine — except  what  I  owed.  Like  Huck 
Finn,  I  was  feeling  pretty  brash  when,  like  a 
slap  in  the  face,  came  the  thought,  "  There  is 
no  place  where  you  can  spend  it !  " 

And  it  was  true!  Here  I  was  with  a  whole 
bag  full  of  good  coin  of  the  realm  and  a  most 
natural  inclination  to  exchange  some  of  it  for 
feminine  '  gee-gaws,'  and  not  a  department 
store  within  a  hundred  miles!  There  was  sim 
ply  no  getting  rid  of  my  treasure  except  to  pay 
my  debts,  and  of  all  the  ways  and  means  of 
spending  money,  that  is  the  most  unsatisfac 
tory  one  I  know.  We  are  all  in  debt  here. 
I  borrowed  of  my  neighbors  till  their  account 
and  my  credit  was  exhausted,  then  I  sent  home 
for  a  needed  supply  and  they  borrowed  of  me. 

I  balanced  my  assets  and  liabilities,  paid  my 
three  months'  board  bill,  sent  home  the  money 
I  had  begged  and  still  found  some  loose  silver 
remaining.  I  guarantee  it  not  to  remain  over 
long.  Trust  to  my  Yankee  ingenuity  to  get 
rid  of  it.  I  shed  money  as  some  people  do  ad 
vice  and  with  about  as  beneficial  results. 

Christmas  has  come  and  gone,  and  I  only 
wish  that  my  memory,  like  the  small  boy's,  was 
[37] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

the  thing  I  forget  with,  so  that  the  recollec 
tion  of  it  could  be  banished  forever.  There 
was  nothing  to  do,  nowhere  to  go,  there  wasn't 
even  any  mail.  All  there  was  left  to  us  was  to 
eat,  so  we  did  that.  Uncle  Sam  gives  special 
dinners  to  his  wards  at  Thanksgiving  and 
Christmas,  and  after  our  dinner  we  went  over 
to  the  pupils'  dining-room  to  see  the  tables  set. 
There  was  turkey  and  cranberries  and  fresh 
fruit,  extra,  and  perhaps  the  coming  genera 
tion  of  hopeful  Sioux  didn't  leave  a  barren 
waste  of  bones  and  grease  spots  behind  them. 
It's  a  pity  we  cannot  civilize  the  rest  of  them 
as  easily  as  we  do  their  appetites!  Our  bill- 
of-fare  is  about  the  only  thing  they  take  kindly 
to,  and  they  object  quite  seriously  at  times  be 
cause  it  doesn't  include  butter!  But  I  like  to 
have  them  object,  I  encourage  them  in  it.  Any 
thing  except  their  usual  stolid,  passive  accept 
ance  of  conditions  as  they  find  them. 

I  would  give  a  good  deal  to  know  whether 
there  is  one  student  here  who  will  go  out  in  the 
world  and  earn  the  butter  for  his  bread.  The 
constant  giving  of  the  necessities  of  life  by  the 
paternal  government  isn't  exactly  conducive  to 
a  growth  of  independence.  This  generation 
was  born  with  its  mouth  open  for  government 
rations  and  I  can  detect  no  symptoms  of  its 
being  closed  in  the  near  future.  It  will  never 
[38] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

shut  up  with  a  snap,  I  know,  but  it  may  close 
gradually  as  a  realization  comes  of  the  sweet 
ness  of  the  bread  of  independence. 

I  was  miserable  all  last  week  because  of 
something  which  happened  here,  and  I  am  go 
ing  to  tell  you  in  hopes  you  may  be  miserable, 
too.  What's  the  use  of  having  a  friend  if  you 
can't  dump  your  burdens  on  her  occasionally? 
When  I  run  across  people  who  don't  seem  to 
have  enough  troubles  of  their  own,  I  am  always 
perfectly  willing  to  loan  them  some  of  mine,  tho 
in  justice  to  the  universal  distributor  of  woes, 
I  must  confess  I  don't  find  such  people  plenti 
ful.  They  most  certainly  are  a  scarce  article 
in  the  Indian  Service,  which  accounts  for  my 
delivering  this  recital  by  mail. 

I  suppose  there  are  not  a  half  dozen  barns 
on  this  whole  reservation.  The  Indians  brand 
their  ponies  and  cows  and  turn  them  out  in  the 
fall  to  shift  for  themselves.  If  they  turn  up 
alive  in  the  spring,  well  and  good.  If  they 
turn  up  dead,  ditto.  Naturally,  many  of  the 
half-starved  animals  gather  about  the  agency 
corral,  where  the  big  stacks  of  hay  stand  invit 
ingly  just  inside  the  fence.  The  stray  ponies 
are  gathered  in  and  fed  enough  to  keep  them 
alive.  In  the  spring  the  Indian  who  belongs  to 
the  brand  may  have  his  property  by  paying  a 
small  amount  for  the  animal's  keeping.  The 
[39] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

poor  cows  do  not  fare  so  well.  If  we  have  an 
open  winter  without  much  snow,  they  manage 
to  live  on  the  prairie  grass,  but  let  a  fall  of 
snow  come  and  their  earthly  course  is  soon 
finished. 

Recently,  snow  fell  to  the  depth  of  several 
inches  and  shortly  afterwards,  on  my  way  to 
the  agency  store,  I  notice  a  cow  and  calf  stand 
ing  outside  the  corral  fence.  I  didn't  think 
much  about  them  at  the  time,  but  during  the 
evening,  in  my  warm  room,  the  desolate  picture 
they  made  returned  to  me,  and  I  resolved  to 
go  out  in  the  morning  and  see  if  they  were  still 
there.  It  is  one  of  the  few  resolutions  I  didn't 
break,  and  I  found  them  standing  in  nearly  the 
same  place,  mutely  begging  for  food  and  shel 
ter.  I  hunted  up  the  herder  and  implored  him 
to  feed  them.  He  seemed  sorry  enough,  but 
said  that  the  supply  of  hay  was  barely  suffi 
cient  for  the  herd  of  ponies  and  the  government 
stock,  and,  as  many  cows  came  there  during  the 
winter,  it  was  impossible  to  feed  them  all.  I 
left  those  poor,  starving  creatures  there  and 
went  to  my  work.  They  were  before  my  eyes 
all  day,  and  after  school  I  went  over  to  the 
industrial  teacher's  rooms  and  tried  to  bribe 
him  to  go  and  feed  them.  He  either  couldn't 
or  wouldn't,  and  told  me  not  to  worry  as  they 
would  be  dead  before  morning.  And  they  were, 
[40] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

starved  and  frozen  to  death  in  sight  of  food  and 
shelter.  I  was  glad  to  know  they  were  no 
longer  suffering,  but  my  Puritan  conscience 
has  been  torturing  me  ever  since.  I  might  have 
done  something,  and  not  have  accepted  the  sit 
uation  as  helpless,  like  any  fullblood.  I  could 
have  bought  some  grain  at  the  agency  store 
and  have  kept  them  from  starving  till  the  snow 
melted.  And  then  the  thought  came,  why  feed 
them  to  keep  them  alive  to  suffer?  They  are 
better  off  dead.  But  are  they?  Had  I  fed  the 
cow  she  doubtless  would  have  lived  to  do  her 
share  of  the  world's  work  as  well  as  I  am  doing 
mine.  And  then  the  uselessness  of  everything 
I  had  ever  done  came  rolling  over  me  like  a 
huge  wave,  and  my  life  seemed  of  no  more  im 
portance  than  the  one  I  had  let  go  out.  And 
it  isn't !  O !  the  little,  insignificant,  complain 
ing  lives  of  us!  How  we  fret  and  fuss  over 
trifles — Aurelius  says  only  fools  do  that — en 
tirely  ignoring  the  big  principles  of  living 
which  would  bring  us  peace  if  we  would  but 
observe  them.  I  have  a  hazy  idea  of  the  essen 
tials  of  life,  yet  I  go  about  magnifying  the 
non-essentials  and  making  myself  miserable  in 
consequence. 

There  is  something  in  a  place  like  this  that 
changes  your  perspective  wonderfully,  there  is 
so  little  to  interfere  with  your  vision.    It  is  life 
[41] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

sans  everything  you  were  brought  up  to  con 
sider  as  a  necessary  part  of  life,  and  you  have 
to  construct  your  scheme  of  living  over  again. 
Mine  still  includes  a  cat,  for  I  didn't  think  it 
prudent  to  eliminate  quite  all  the  factors  of  the 
old  existence.  It  is  a  tri-legged,  dust-colored 
kitten  which  limped  into  school  one  day,  and  as 
the  children  teased  it,  I  took  it  along  with  me  to 
the  kitchen.  The  long-suffering  cook  told  me 
that  if  I  brought  another  cat  there  she  would 
put  it  in  the  soup ! 

I  didn't  bear  the  soup  any  grudge,  so  I  car 
ried  Madam  Puss  home  with  me  and  legally 
adopted  her.  She  sleeps  on  my  bed,  pulls  the 
cushions  off  onto  the  floor,  gets  on  top  of  the 
dresser  and  scratches  it  clear  of  all  its  para 
phernalia,  and  does  her  best  generally  to  give 
the  place  a  homelike  atmosphere.  She  is  such 
a  little  Indian  of  a  cat  that  I  didn't  feel  equal 
to  the  task  of  naming  her,  so  I  gave  a  public 
function  and  solicited  aid.  I  asked  everyone 
present  to  write  an  appropriate  name  for  her 
on  a  slip  of  paper.  These  I  strung  on  a  cord 
and  trailed  before  her  majesty.  She  coquetted 
with  them  a  little,  but  soon  daintily  reached  out 
a  graceful  paw  and  pulled  off  a  slip.  It  had 
6  Sprite  '  written  on  it,  and  proved  to  be  Mrs. 
Marks'  contribution.  Mrs.  Marks  made  a  nice 
little  christening  speech,  after  which  we  popped 
[42] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

corn  in  honor  of  the  Event.  A  capital,  please. 
This  is  the  nearest  to  a  social  affair  that  I  have 
seen  at  Crow  River,  and  deserves  capitaliza 
tion. 

You  write  that  my  letters  make  you  inter 
ested  in  Indian  education.  Let  me  recommend 
to  you  a  book  just  published,  "  Indian  Boy 
hood,"  by  Dr.  Chas.  Eastman.  Dr.  Eastman 
is  a  fullblood,  a  graduate  of  Dartmouth,  and 
is  our  school  physician.  His  book  is  just  out 
and  is  an  autobiography,  as  he  was  raised  in 
savagery.  Our  boys  play  the  same  games  that 
he  describes,  and  while  they  cannot  get  buffalo 
ribs  to  slide  down  hill  on,  they  make  govern 
ment  barrel  staves  answer  the  purpose. 

Only  yesterday  I  heard  the  small  boys'  ma 
tron  call  out,  "  Rowland,  don't  you  slide  down 
hill  on  your  pants !  "  Poor  Rowland,  he  was 
evidently  shy  even  a  stave.  But  then,  they 
were  government  pants  and  didn't  cost  him 
anything,  so  why  should  he  be  careful  of  them  ? 

My  head  is  getting  in  a  bad  condition  from 
breathing  dust  so  constantly.  Probably  some 
of  the  few  thousand  microbes  I  consume  daily 
are  beginning  to  get  even  with  me.  I  have 
been  driven  to  fancy  work,  the  last  resort  of 
boredom.  At  present  I  am  at  work  on  some 
doilies,  and  if  they  turn  out  decently  I  am  go 
ing  to  keep  them.  Otherwise  I  shall  send  them 
[43] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

to  my  sister.  They  will  be  marvelous  to  her  in 
any  condition,  for  in  her  wildest  imaginings 
she  never  pictured  me  doing  anything  so  nice 
and  ladylike. 

This  has  been  an  off  day,  and  I  am  desper 
ate  with  loneliness.  I  am  not  just  lonesome  to 
see  you  and  the  home  folks,  much  as  I  should 
love  to.  It  is  a  loneliness  of  body,  mind 
and  soul  and  there  isn't  a  person  in  the  world 
who  cares  or  understands.  We  may  rectify 
our  mistakes  to  a  certain  extent,  but  we  cannot 
banish  the  influences  they  have  exerted  over  us. 
Mine  confront  me  everywhere,  trailing  their 
wretched  memories. 

I  am  beginning  to  grasp  the  idea  of  a  faith 
big  enough  to  accept  in  trust  the  reason  of 
things  we  cannot  understand,  believing  that  the 
final  outcome  will  be  good.  It  is  like  the  ego 
in  us  to  make  every  unpleasant  incident  a  per 
sonal  matter  between  ourselves  and  a  watchful 
Providence.  A  belief  in  a  protecting  Provi 
dence  is  very  comforting  as  long  as  the  sun 
shines,  but  what  are  you  to  do  when  it  begins 
to  hail?  You  may  either  follow  Mrs.  Job's  ad 
vice,  or  change  the  attributes  of  your  divinity. 

I  much  prefer  Aurelius'  belief  that  all  the 

laws  of  the  universe  are  working  together  to  a 

certain  excellent  end,  and  that  the  things  which 

happen  to  us  along  the  way  are  simply  results 

[44] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

of  this  co-labor,  and  must  be  cheerfully  accept 
ed,  since  their  ultimate  aim  is  universal  good. 

"  Say  any  dream  of  all  the  dreams  that  shift  and  darkle, 

drift  and  glow, 
Holds  most  of  truth  within  its  gleams,  but  say — at  last — 

I  do  not  know." 

It  is  too  deep  a  problem  for  Crow  River  and 
me.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  glad  that  I  was 
deemed  worthy  to  be  made  an  object  lesson  by 
the  things  "  which  work  together  for  good." 
The  potter  has  the  right  to  mould  his  clay  as 
he  pleases,  but  it  is  pretty  hard  on  the  clay  at 
times.  If  I  only  had  a  pound  package  of  Huy- 
ler's  I  should  feel  better,  but  I  haven't  seen  a 
chocolate  in  four  months.  If  that  isn't  enough 
to  make  one  question  the  justice  of  Providence, 
I  leave  it  to  you  to  tell  me  what  is. 

If  you  have  any  doubts  regarding  my  final 
salvation,  you  can  send  me  a  box,  and  have  the 
satisfaction  of  knowing  that  you  did  what  you 
could. 

Yours  doubtfully, 

JEAN. 


[45] 


HURON  INDIAN  SCHOOL,, 
WYANFORT,  INDIAN  TERR. 

MAY  8,  19—. 

DEAR: 

The  first  two  days  here  I  spent  mostly  in 
the  bathtub.  It  seemed  too  good  to  be  true 
that  I  could  go  to  bed  clean  and  get  up  in  the 
same  condition  in  the  morning.  No  loving 
gumbo  hovering  o'er  me  while  I  slept  to  set  my 
teeth  on  edge  even  in  my  dreams. 

I  don't  believe  that  sanctification  in  the  su 
perlative  degree  could  give  me  nearly  as  pleas 
ant  a  sensation  as  has  the  feeling  that  for  the 
first  time  in  five  months,  I  have  been  clean  for 
twelve  consecutive  hours.  I  am  beginning  to 
realize  to  what  a  great  extent  that  horrible 
dust  was  responsible  for  my  low  outlook.  How 
can  you  be  normal  mentally  in  an  atmosphere 
so  thick  with  dusty  microbes  that  you  can  fair 
ly  detect  the  taste  of  the  different  species?  No 
doubt  there  are  mental  as  well  as  physical 
microbes,  and  I  think  Crow  River  is  their  dis 
tributing  point.  Anyway,  they  got  the  best  of 
me,  and  I  was  ill  for  two  weeks.  I  wrote  the 
[47] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

Department  at  Washington  that  unless  it 
wanted  to  lose  a  most  valuable  employee,  it 
would  have  to  transfer  me  to  a  place  where  the 
real  estate  was  fastened  down.  And  it  did. 
In  about  three  weeks  I  got  orders  to  report  to 
the  Huron  Indian  School,  Wyanfort,  Okla.  I 
remained  at  Crow  River  until  my  successor 
came,  a  pretty  Irish  girl,  who  looked  capable 
of  holding  her  own  with  any  number  of  mi 
crobes  and  Indians.  Miss  Deering  was  ill,  worn 
out  with  nursing  sick  children  night  and  day. 
There  was  a  decrepit  hospital  there,  but  such  a 
barren,  desolate  place,  and  the  nurse  harmon 
ized  with  her  surroundings  so  perfectly  that 
you  could  hardly  drive  a  child  to  stay  there, 
and  Miss  Deering  had  kept  them  in  her  own 
room  and  cared  for  them.  I  left  her  in  bed, 
worn  out,  sick  and  suffering,  but  the  smile  with 
which  she  bade  me  farewell  was  as  sunny  as 
ever.  I  shall  carry  the  memory  of  her  unselfish 
devotion  with  me  always,  a  guiding  star  of  love 
and  service. 

There  were  two  feet  of  snow  in  Dakota  and 
on  our  way  to  Chamberlain  our  sleigh  got 
stuck  in  the  snow  and  the  driver  had  to  unhitch 
and  pull  the  sleigh,  plus  me,  out  of  the  drifts. 
At  Wyanfort,  driving  from  the  station  to  the 
school,  only  a  very  short  distance,  I  am  glad  to 
say,  we  got  stuck  in  the  mud.  But  it  was  de- 
[48] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

cent,  well  behaved  mud  and  minded  its  own  af 
fairs,  and  bore  no  more  resemblance  to  Crow 
River  mud  than  a  cat  does  to  a  catacomb. 

I  have  been  here  nearly  two  months  now, 
and  it  seems  so  good  to  be  cheerful  and  con 
tented  again !  To  get  up  in  the  morning  with  a 
smile  that  doesn't  come  off.  It  is  beautiful  here, 
partly  by  contrast,  perhaps.  It  seems  as  tho 
the  grass  was  greener,  the  flowers  sweeter,  the 
birds  merrier.  Spring  comes  early,  and  every 
nook  and  hollow  is  filled  with  violets  and  wild 
pansies,  and  sweet  williams,  while  every  hillside 
is  a  mass  of  dogwood  contrasted  with  the  flam 
ing  color  of  the  redbuds. 

This  reservation  is  allotted  among  seven 
tribes,  all  of  which  send  their  full  quota  of  chil 
dren  to  the  school.  Only  one  tribe — the  Qua- 
paws — send  any  full  blooded  pupils.  The  other 
tribes  have  intermarried  with  the  white  settlers 
and  renters  who  drift  here  from  Missouri  and 
Arkansas,  and  my  pupils  have  enough  white 
blood  to  make  teaching  them  quite  resemble  my 
work  among  the  white  Indians  of  Northern 
New  York.  I  see  fair  hair  and  '  carrot  tops  ' 
above  my  school  desks  quite  as  often  as  brown 
and  glossy  black.  I  have  some  dear  little  girls, 
and  I  am  enjoying  my  work  as  much  as  I  shall 
ever  enjoy  such  slow  torture  as  school  teaching. 
Please  don't  repeat  this.  Teachers  are  sup- 
[49] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

posed  to  teach  for  love  of  the  work,  not  for  the 
pay  accidentally  attached,  and  I  don't  want  to 
destroy  the  illusion.  But  then,  I  guess  it  can't 
be,  so  long  as  the  salaries  of  the  public  school 
teachers  remain  at  their  present  figures. 

We  live  by  bugle  calls;  reveille  sounds  at  a 
quarter  of  six,  when  everyone  turns  out — sup 
posedly.  The  assembly  call  for  dinner  and 
supper,  and  taps  at  nine  o'clock,  when  every 
body  goes  to  bed,  again  supposedly.  At  Crow 
River  they  tolled  the  bell  at  mealtime,  and  it 
always  sounded  so  terribly  appropriate,  par 
ticularly  at  six-thirty  on  a  cold  winter's  morn 
ing,  when  '  yours  truly  '  had  to  get  up  and 
say  "  grace." 

I  don't  have  to  do  that  here,  but  I  do  have 
to  teach  a  Sunday  school  class.  At  present  we 
are  studying  the  sins  and  shortcomings  of  the 
fathers  in  Israel,  and  I  try  to  make  the  lessons 
as  edifying  as  the  material  will  allow. 

I  am  sending  you  a  photo  of  a  little  neigh 
bor  of  mine,  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  Indian 
employes.  She  is  a  fat,  four-year-old  rascal 
with  pigtails,  and  so  bow-legged  that  should 
she  meet  a  dog  on  the  walk,  it  would  be  sure 
to  go  thru  rather  than  trouble  to  go  around. 
Her  name  is  Lucile !  How  she  ever  manages  to 
get  one  foot  out  of  the  other's  way  when  she 
runs  I  can't  imagine.  I  hold  my  breath  when  I 
[50] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

see  her  attempt  it,  for  she  acts  as  tho  she  were 
trying  to  make  both  feet  occupy  the  same  space 
at  the  same  time,  and  that  cannot  be  done  with 
any  degree  of  success,  except  by  Lucile.  She 
seldom  falls,  I  notice,  but  when  she  does  her 
feet  are  considerably  mixed  up.  There  are 
three  other  pairs  of  pedal  ellipsis  in  the  fam 
ily,  and  when  they  take  to  chasing  each  other 
up  and  down  the  walk  there  is  nothing  for  the 
spectator  to  do  but  sit  down  and  laugh  it  out. 

Our  school  is  under  the  spiritual  direction  of 
a  Quaker  Mission.  Perhaps  you  don't  know 
that  at  one  time,  under  what  was  called  Grant's 
Quaker  Policy,  most  of  the  Indian  schools  were 
in  charge  of  these  Quaker  Missions.  Old  na 
tives  here  still  speak  of  the  school  as  "  The  Mis 
sion."  Our  present  pastor  preaches  the  old- 
fashioned  hereafter  of  fire  and  brimstone,  and 
wears  a  celluloid  collar  when  he  does  it. 
Doesn't  that  impress  you  as  a  dangerous  com 
bination?  I  should  never  dare  tempt  Provi 
dence  that  way. 

I  have  a  new  friend.  Not  just  a  friendly 
acquaintance,  but  a  real,  sure  'nough  friend. 
That  means  a  great  deal  to  me,  for  I  could 
dispense  with  part  of  the  digits  on  one  hand 
and  still  have  enough  left  to  number  the  people 
I  have  considered  my  friends.  My  newly-found 
one  is  Captain  Taggert,  chief  of  the  Wyan- 
[51] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

forts,  a  man  of  mental  and  physical  girth  be 
yond  the  average,  a  pioneer  who,  with  others 
of  his  tribe,  settled  here  a  score  or  more  of 
years  ago  and  under  the  usual  "  insurmount 
able  difficulties  "  which  confront  the  pioneers 
of  progress  everywhere,  set  in  motion  the 
wheels  of  industry  and  enterprise  which  revolve 
toward  civilization.  Captain  Taggert  has,  I 
believe,  but  a  small  degree  of  Indian  blood,  but 
he  is  an  Indian  first  and  all  the  time,  and  a 
white  man  only  occasionally.  His  father,  also 
a  chief,  organized,  and  was  the  master  of,  the 
first  Masonic  order  to  be  founded  in  the  Terri 
tory  of  Kansas.  His  home  was  originally  in 
Wyanfort,  Kansas,  now  Kansas  City.  The  old 
town  is  full  of  the  landmarks  of  the  Indians 
who  were  the  founders  of  the  present  progres 
sive  city. 

I  only  wish  I  could  make  you  see  Captain 
Taggert  as  he  is  to-day,  in  the  autumn  of  life, 
with  his  well-spent  years  behind  him;  his  halt 
ing  walk,  his  twinkling  brown  eyes,  his  inex 
haustible  fund  of  stories,  his  ready,  jovial 
laugh.  Since  Mrs.  Taggert's  death  several 
years  ago,  his  affections  have  seemed  to  center 
in  two  objects,  Old  Flop,  his  big,  bony,  awk 
ward  horse,  and  his  order  of  A.  F.  A.  M.  Cap 
tain  Taggert  has  been  kindness  itself  to  me, 
and  stands  between  me  and  a  hundred  disagree- 
[52] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

able  trifles.  You  see,  I  can't  get  used  to  being 
under  command,  and  I  blunder  into  things  and 
break  a  dozen  rules  a  day.  Superintendent 
Marks  seemed  to  understand  my  peculiar  Yan 
kee  temperament,  but  this  Superintendent  is  a 
different  proposition.  He  is  the  type  of  man 
who  comes  to  dinner  three-quarters  of  an  hour 
behind  time  and  grumbles  because  the  potatoes 
are  cold.  If  he  were  just  an  ordinary  mortal 
it  wouldn't  matter  so  much,  but  since  he  hap 
pens  to  be  an  Indian  school  superintendent  it 
behooves  you  to  keep  the  potatoes  sizzling. 

This  is  a  very  religious  community,  if 
churches  constitute  religion.  Wyanfort  is  a 
town  of  some  two  hundred  inhabitants — don't 
be  alarmed,  it  grew  very  rapidly — and  the 
Friends,  Methodist  and  Christian  denomina 
tions  each  have  a  church,  and  the  Baptists, 
eleven  in  number,  are  trying  to  raise  funds  to 
build  another.  They  all  seem  to  believe  in  the 
doctrine  of  immersion,  and  nearly  every  Sun 
day,  even  in  cold  weather,  there  are  public  bap 
tisms  in  the  creek  which  flows  just  below  the 
school  and  which  furnishes  the  school  with  sew 
erage  facilities.  The  occasions  are  a  sort  of 
sanctified  picnic,  for  the  settlers  come  from  all 
over  this  section,  come  in  farm  wagons  and 
bring  the  children  and  have  dinner  at  the  creek. 
Every  gallant  who  boasts  a  carriage  and  best 
[53] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

girl  is  there,  and  a  goodly  number  of  toughs 
come  whooping  it  up  on  horseback.  The  Holi 
ness  people  are  also  laboring  in  this  neghbor- 
hood.  I  should  imagine  the  Holiness  doctrine 
and  Indians  would  make  an  interesting  com 
bination  if  thoroly  mixed. 

Last  Sunday  I  went  down  to  the  footbridge 
to  watch  proceedings.  One  of  the  women  to 
be  immersed  wore  a  calico  wrapper — they  are 
always  made  of  calico — and  the  rough  element 
saw  what  it  came  to  see.  And  yet  people  with 
a  fair  amount  of  common  sense  will  attend  these 
meetings  and  claim  they  are  of  a  divine  mean 
ing  to  them.  It  is  a  question  of  the  "  human 
form  divine,"  I  suppose.  That  was  the  only 
thing  of  a  divine  nature  that  I  could  see.  I 
shall  not  go  again  to  watch.  I  may  have  a 
great  dearth  of  religious  sentiment  of  the 
orthodox  brand,  but  I  cannot  help  feeling  that 
such  a  spectacle  is  little  better  than  sacrilege. 
The  essentials  of  Christianity  are  so  grand,  so 
ennobling,  that  it  seems  a  degradation  to  drag 
the  literal  interpretation  of  the  letter  of  the 
law  thru  the  mire  of  publicity,  and  tag  the  per 
formance  a  religious  ceremony.  I  said  as  much 
to  Captain  Taggert  and  he  replied  that  with  a 
primitive  people  like  these,  creeds  and  spectac 
ular  ceremonies  were  a  necessity.  He  said 
their  belief  in  hell  was  the  only  incentive  strong 
enough  to  incite  them  to  decent  living.  Per- 
[54] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

haps  he  is  right,  and  as  succeeding  generations 
learn  to  have  more  faith  in  their  God,  and  less 
fear,  the  bubble  of  eternal  punishment  will  burst 
in  an  atmosphere  too  pure  for  its  overheated 
vapors.  I  hope  so.  It  seems  a  pity  to  preach 
an  eternity  of  torment  to  these  poor,  strug 
gling  people.  This  life  to  them  is  barren  of 
everything  the  soul  longs  for.  It  is  reduced 
by  poverty  and  ignorance  to  the  very  lowest 
terms  of  existence.  Surely  their  cross  is  suf 
ficiently  heavy  without  the  added  weight  of 
fear  for  the  hereafter. 

As  I  looked  at  the  women  at  the  creek  it  was 
easy  to  select  the  wives  of  the  white  renters, 
the  "  poor  whites  "  who  come  here  and  rent  the 
farms  of  the  more  prosperous  Indians.  They 
live  in  shanties  of  two  or  three  rooms,  the  walls 
of  which  are  often  covered  with  old  newspapers, 
and  unfailingly  make  their  yearly  contribution 
to  the  Territory's  population. 

If  all  beauty  is  by  contrast,  so  also  are 
things  hideous.  About  the  second  time  I  drove 
thru  the  reservation  with  my  new  friend  I  dis 
covered  that  I  was  by  no  means  among  the 
world's  unfortunates.  I  shall  bark  no  more  up 
the  tree  of  misfortune.  I  don't  believe  I  have 
a  barking  acquaintance  with  it,  anyway. 

The  children  of  the  poor  whites  are  doubly 
unlucky.  Uncle  Sam  provides  a  home  and 
[55] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

means  of  education  for  the  children  of  his 
wards,  but  his  white  sons  and  daughters  are 
not  included  in  his  parental  care.  Indian  Ter 
ritory  is  not  a  territory  in  the  usual  meaning 
of  the  term.  When  the  Indians  first  came  to 
this  reservation  they  adopted  certain  portions 
of  the  Kansas  law,  particularly  regarding  the 
inheritance  of  land.  Of  course  taxes  are  un 
known,  as  Indian  land  is  not  taxable.  Conse 
quently  the  roads  are  not  worked,  there  are  no 
public  schools,  and  such  laws  as  there  are  are 
enforced  by  the  United  States  marshals,  assist 
ed  locally  by  the  Indian  police.  Captain  Tag- 
gert  is  a  member  of  this  latter  organization. 
Only  yesterday  he  came  into  the  dining-room 
and  asked  me  if  I  would  come  out  and  hold  his 
horse  while  he  went  to  kill  a  man.  There  is 
very  little  trouble  here,  tho,  and  an  arrest  is 
seldom  made.  The  laws  forbidding  the  "  sale, 
introduction,  or  giving  away "  of  spirituous 
drinks  are  strictly  enforced. 

To  be  sure  you  can  get  Deruna  in  Wyan- 
fort,  at  the  one  drug  store.  We  have  a  good 
joke  on  one  of  the  teachers,  Mrs.  Cawston. 
This  spring  she  felt  the  need  of  a  tonic,  and 
as  Deruna  was  highly  praised,  she  decided  to 
try  it.  When  she  asked  the  clerk  at  the  drug 
store  for  a  bottle  he  smiled  very  peculiarly  and 
said,  "  Madam,  I  don't  believe  you  would  like 
[56] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

Deruna."  You  see,  she  didn't  know  that  the 
special  brand  of  Deruna  sent  to  Indian  Terri 
tory  is  a  mighty  poor  kind  of  booze.  Perhaps 
the  pure  food  law,  along  with  the  pure  feud 
law  of  Kentucky,  will  materialize  some  day, 
and  when  we  drink  from  a  bottle  of  patent 
medicine  we  shall  know  the  contents  thereof. 
A  very  great  deal  depends  on  our  outlook, 
doesn't  it?  There  is  a  girl  here  who  happens 
not  to  like  her  steak  rare.  Our  cook  is  a  jewel 
—an  auburn-haired  one — and  she  tries  to  send 
the  steak  to  the  table  done  to  suit  the  various 
tastes  of  her  large  family,  but  it  occasionally 
happens  that  it  is  all  too  rare  to  suit  this  par 
ticular  member  of  it.  She  flounces  in  her  chair 
when  asked  if  she  will  have  meat,  and  says, 
"  Thank  you,  I  don't  like  raw  beef."  And 
'  raw  beef '  expresses  her  outlook  to  a  T. 
Nothing  in  the  heavens  above  or  the  earth  be 
neath  meets  with  her  approval  if  it  differs 
from  her  idea  of  what  it  should  be.  She  doesn't 
like  cats — of  course — and  to  her  all  cats  are 
gray.  With  her  the  only  good  Indian  is  a 
dead  one,  and  the  children  here  are  just  so 
many  little  savages  which  a  kind  Providence 
has  placed  in  her  path  that  she  may  shine  in 
contrast.  She  is  a  Baptist,  and  members  of 
all  other  denominations  are  shod  for  the  in 
fernal  regions.  They  are  all  '  raw  beef '  to 
[57] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

her.  She  has  immense  feet  and  cordially  dis 
likes  me  because  I  haven't,  which  is  as  good  a 
reason  as  any  other  if  you  think  about  it.  We 
seldom  dislike  people  because  of  their  faults, 
any  more  than  we  like  them  for  their  virtues. 
Someone  has  said  that  "  men  like  women  in 
spite  of  their  virtues,  rather  than  because  of 
them."  Apropos,  Mark  Twain  says  that  "  vir 
tue  is  its  own  punishment."  One  hardly  knows 
whether  to  break  or  mend  their  ways. 

I  have  been  sewing  all  my  spare  time  of  late. 
You  know  I  make  most  of  my  own  gowns  and 
hats,  and  am  regarded  as  quite  a  marvel  in 
consequence.  Captain  Taggert  told  me  the 
other  day  that  I  could  do  everything  for  my 
self  but  make  my  own  shoes  and  mind  my  own 
business,  and  strongly  recommended  that  I 
learn  both  accomplishments.  I  may  decide  on 
the  shoemaking  later,  but  the  other  is  quite 
beyond  me. 

Cheerfully,  yours, 

JEAN. 


[58] 


WYANFORT,  INDIAN  TERRITORY, 
HURON  BOARDING  SCHOOL 

JUNE  1,  19 — . 
DEAR: 

You  ask  me  what  our  amusements  are.  My 
dear,  my  letters  have  indeed  been  fruitless  if 
they  have  failed  to  impart  the  knowledge  that 
as  far  as  the  east  is  from  the  west,  so  far  has 
the  Indian  Service  removed  amusements  from 
us.  We  play  croquet  with  the  thermometer 
100°  in  the  shade  and  fight  like  Turks  doing  it. 
Attribute  the  disgraceful  fact  to  our  tempera 
ment  if  you  choose ;  I  much  prefer  to  blame  the 
temperature.  It  sounds  as  well  and  lightens 
your  conscience. 

Every  Friday  evening,  from  seven  till  nine, 
the  pupils  have  a  "  party  "  and  we  teachers  are 
accessories  before  and  after  the  fact.  We  play 
Drop  the  Handkerchief,  Jolly  Old  Miller,  Skip 
to  My  Lou,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  Sometimes 
we  dance.  We  boast  one  young  man  who  can 
skip  the  light  fantastic,  but  he  usually  skips 
the  party  instead.  I  have  a  suspicion  he  pre 
fers  doing  so.  No  doubt  a  room  full  of  part- 
[59] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

ners  is  rather  a  discouraging  thing  to  face.  I 
have  aped  the  man's  part  so  much  in  dancing 
with  girls  that  I  suspect  if  I  ever  do  dance  with 
<a  man  again  I  shall  endeavor  to  put  my  arm 
around  him,  just  from  force  of  habit.  It  is  to 
be  hoped  that  he,  whoever  he  may  be,  will  be 
equal  to  the  occasion. 

Last  Saturday  I  went  with  Captain  Taggert 
on  a  drive  up  into  the  Peoria  Reservation.  We 
crossed  the  range  of  wooded  hills  which  bound 
this  reserve  and  drove  over  into  the  level 
prairie  land  which  stretches  away  to  Kansas 
on  the  north.  A  most  delightful  drive  if  you 
don't  mind  stumps. 

The  roads  thru  the  woods  are  made  by  cut 
ting  down  a  needed  tree  here  and  there — 
roughly  chopped  off  a  foot  or  more  from  the 
ground — and  blazing  the  trees  along  the  way 
to  serve  as  a  guide.  The  combination  proved 
disastrous  to  a  greenhorn  like  me.  If  I 
watched  for  the  stumps  I  missed  the  trail  and 
got  off  the  road;  if  I  watched  the  trail  I  hit 
every  stump  within  a  radius  of  ten  feet.  I  sur 
rendered  the  reins  to  Captain  Taggert  after  I 
had  made  my  fourth  attempt  to  descend  via 
the  dashboard,  and  told  him  he  could  drive  and 
that  I  would  watch  out  for  the  stumps.  He 
said  I  didn't  really  need  to,  as  he  could  hit 
them  all  without  my  pointing  them  out.  Old 
[60] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

Flop  objects  decidedly  to  stepping  over  a 
stump,  and  persists  in  going  around,  regard 
less  of  our  wishes  in  the  matter,  which  leaves  no 
alternative  for  the  buggy  and  us  but  to  go 
over,  which  we  do  with  as  much  grace  as  the 
circumstances  will  allow. 

At  the  foot  of  a  long  hill  I  saw  a  nice  big 
stump  waiting  patiently  for  us  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  and  watched  with  considerable  in 
terest  for  our  probable  encounter  with  it.  Just 
before  we  reached  it  I  noticed  a  horrid  creep 
ing  thing  in  the  wheel  track,  and  called  out, 
"  Stop,  quick !  There  is  a  tarantula." 

Captain  Taggert  reined  up  Old  Flop  so 
quickly  that  he  snorted  with  indignation,  and 
there  just  between  the  fore  and  hind  wheel  was 
the  worst  looking  specimen  in  his  particular 
line  of  goods  that  I  had  ever  seen,  with  black, 
beady  eyes  glaring  straight  up  at  us.  You 
may  be  sure  that  I  didn't  get  out  for  an  intro 
duction,  and  when  Captain  Taggert  started 
Old  Flop  I  shut  my  eyes,  so  I  don't  know 
whether  we  ran  over  the  thing  or  not. 

Captain  Taggert  broke  the  silence  by  asking, 
"  Where  did  you  ever  see  a  tarantula,  that  you 
knew  one  so  quickly  ?  " 

I  had  been  asking  myself  that  question,  for 
I  had  never  seen  even  a  picture  of  one  that  I 
knew  of.     Had  I  suddenly  met  an  archangel  in 
[61] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

the  road  I  should  immediately  have  mistaken 
him  for  a  member  of  some  traveling  show  and 
asked  him  the  price  of  his  tickets ;  but  a  hor 
rible,  loathesome,  hairy  thing  I  knew  at  once. 
Is  that  a  result  of  an  intuitive  knowledge  of 
evil,  think  you?  Why  can't  we  be  born  with  a 
reversed  tendency,  I  wonder,  and  not  have  to 
seek  '  the  things  that  are  good '  so  strenu 
ously?  I  asked  Captain  Taggert  what  he 
thought  about  it  and  he  only  laughed  at  me, 
as  he  always  does.  Said  I  needed  an  intuitive 
knowledge  of  evil  in  order  to  avoid  it  instinc 
tively,  otherwise  I  would  have  picked  up  the 
tarantula  and  taken  it  home  with  me  to  make 
a  pet  of,  or  at  least  have  attempted  it.  I  told 
him  my  sense  of  the  general  fitness  of  things 
would  have  saved  me  from  making  a  mistake 
like  that,  and  he  came  back  at  me  with  the  re 
mark  that  without  an  instinctive  knowledge  of 
evil  I  could  possess  no  such  sense.  We  seemed 
to  be  arguing  in  a  circle,  and  there  is  no  profit 
in  doing  that,  so  I  quit,  without  the  last  word, 
too,  but  I  really  felt  bad  to  think  I  had  known 
Mr.  Tarantula  on  sight.  It  made  me  feel  as 
tho  something  must  have  been  wrong  with  my 
ancestors. 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  attending  a  Quapaw 
Council  recently,  tho  not  in  the  capacity   of 
councilor,   as   my   remark  might  lead   you  to 
[62] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

infer.  The  Quapaws  are  a  rich  tribe,  whose 
members  hold  in  common  a  large  tract  of  land 
which  has  never  been  allotted.  Capitalists 
from  Joplin  have  been  trying  to  get  the  land 
for  mining  purposes,  and  last  week  the  tribe 
met  in  council  to  consider  the  question  of  sell 
ing  it.  The  capitalists  had  offered  a  fair  price 
for  the  land,  and  the  majority  of  the  tribe  was 
willing  to  dispose  of  it. 

Now,  Indian  land,  surplus  or  otherwise,  is 
tied  up  hill  and  dale,  by  miles  of  government 
red  tape,  as  all  good  capitalists  should  know, 
and  word  had  come  from  Washington  to  the 
agency  office  that  the  Quapaws  could  sell  their 
land  only  with  the  government's  consent,  by 
government  methods  and  at  a  government  valu 
ation.  Captain  Taggert  was  sent  to  carry  the 
glad  tidings  to  the  assembled  Quapaws,  and  in 
vited  me  to  go  along.  I  was  prepared  for  a 
goodly  number  of  full  bloods  in  civilian's 
clothes,  with  their  hair  braided  with  strips  of 
red  calico,  but  I  wasn't  prepared  for  automo 
biles  and  a  merry-go-round.  There  had  been 
a  street  fair  in  an  adjoining  town  in  Missouri, 
and  the  proprietor  of  the  merry-go-round, 
with  a  practiced  nose  for  business,  had  scented 
the  Quapaw  Council  and  was  revolving  there 
for  a  week.  He  seemed  to  be  thriving  in  his 
chosen  profession  and  a  number  of  braves  and 
[63] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

babies  were  circling  solemnly  around  to  the 
tune  of  "  Good  Old  Summer  Time." 

A  dignified  old  Quapaw  fetched  me  a  chair 
and  when  I  thanked  him,  raised  his  hat  with 
the  nicest  kind  of  a  smile.  Talk  about  "  repose 
of  manner."  These  fullbloods  have  the  genu 
ine  article.  There  isn't  a  superfluous  motion 
in  their  whole  makeup. 

Old  Paul  Dabber  is  chief  of  the  Quapaws. 
Someone  had  rigged  four  boards  on  the  top 
of  as  many  posts  driven  into  the  ground  and 
under  this  glorious  canopy  old  Paul  squatted, 
puffing  a  big  clay  pipe.  The  leading  men  of 
the  tribe  were  gathered  around  him  exchang 
ing  occasional — very  occasional — ideas  on  the 
subject  under  consideration.  The  capitalists 
from  Joplin — they  were  accountable  for  the 
irrelevant  autos — wandered  uneasily  about, 
plainly  in  a  hurry  to  get  matters  under  way, 
but  wise  enough  or  experienced  enough  not  to 
attempt  to  rush  things.  Slowly,  however,  the 
crowd  of  Indians,  capitalists,  children  and  dogs 
circumscribed  the  squatting  place  of  old  Paul, 
who  still  smoked  and  exchanged  occasional 
ideas.  Captain  Taggert  kept  in  the  back 
ground,  biding  his  time. 

Suddenly  the  spokesman  for  the  Joplin 
company  began  speaking,  addressing  himself 
[64] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

to  a  young  Indian  interpreter,  for  while  old 
Paul  speaks  English,  the  majority  of  his  tribe 
does  not.  He  spoke  at  some  length,  stating  the 
terms  of  the  intended  purchase  in  the  simplest 
language.  Old  Paul  listened  in  silence,  but 
nodded  his  head  when  some  of  the  tribe  spoke 
favorably  of  the  sale.  My  companion  seemed 
to  think  matters  had  gone  far  enough,  and, 
pulling  the  letter  containing  Uncle  Sam's 
directions  from  his  pocket,  he  walked  to  the 
center  of  the  little  circle  and  asked  for  its  at 
tention.  You  may  be  sure  it  was  given  at 
once,  for  Captain  Taggert  knows  every  man, 
woman,  child  and  dog  on  the  reservation  and 
counts  most  of  them  as  his  friends.  The  capi 
talists  looked  anxious  and  gathered  nearer; 
the  boys  on  the  outer  circle  suddenly  became 
quiet,  and  even  the  dogs  seemed  to  scent 
trouble,  for  three  of  them  went  off  to  one  side 
and  settled  a  little  private  difference  of  their 
own. 

Captain  Taggert  read  the  letter  from  date 
to  signature  amid  a  complete  silence.  As  he 
finished,  one  of  the  members  of  the  Joplin 
company  asked  to  see  it,  but  appeared  satis 
fied  after  glancing  at  its  contents.  The  Qua- 
paws  accepted  the  mandate  passively,  stolidly, 
as  they  have  accepted  them  all  their  lives,  well 
[65] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

knowing  the  futility  of  objection.  I  didn't 
hear  the  capitalists  say  anything,  but  they 
piled  into  their  autos  with  a  very  damnlike 
expression  on  their  faces.  I  have  no  doubt 
they  thought  Mr.  Bumble's  definition  of  the 
law  a  particularly  fit  one. 

I  had  been  giving  a  divided  attention  to  the 
reading  of  the  letter,  for  reasons  I  will  tell  you. 
Near  me,  seated  on  the  ground,  was  a  young 
squaw  with  her  year-old  baby.  I  knew  her 
slightly,  as  a  girl  who  had  attended  the  Wyan- 
fort  school  some  time  previous.  She  had  re 
ceived  a  fair  education,  as  education  is  counted 
here,  and  had  learned  the  ways  of  civilization. 
She  had  gone  back  to  her  tribe  and  married 
what  we  call  a  "  blanket  Indian."  My  dear,  I 
am  telling  you  the  gospel  truth  when  I  say 
that  every  stitch  of  clothing  that  woman  had 
on  was  a  red  calico  wrapper,  open  from  throat 
to  waist  that  the  baby  might  nurse  when  he  felt 
so  inclined.  She  sat  there,  exposed,  as  calmly 
as  tho  sitting  in  a  bathtub.  The  baby,  poor 
little  rascal,  wasn't  so  calm,  and  cried  most  of 
the  time.  Perhaps  the  cause  of  his  wailing  oc 
curred  to  her,  for  she  lifted  him  into  her  lap 
and  proceeded  to  administer  to  his  wants.  And 
what  do  you  suppose  she  used !  Pieces  of  cloth 
like  the  red  calico  dress  she  wore!  That  poor 
[66] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

baby's  hips  and  legs  were  a  mass  of  sores  to 
which  the  cloth  stuck  as  she  pulled  it  off.  She 
made  no  pretense  of  cleaning  him,  but  put  on 
the  dry  cloth  and  pinned  him  up.  And  this  in 
sight  of  autos  and  a  merry-go-round.  You 
can't  circumvent  nature  by  a  few  years  in  a  gov 
ernment  training  school.  I  saw  some  of  the 
little  girls  from  the  school,  whom  I  had  known 
with  their  hair  down  and  their  skirts  up;  they 
had  reversed  the  order  and  were  gravely  mas 
querading  as  grownups,  with  trailing  skirts 
and  their  hair  piled  on  top  of  their  heads. 

Poor  children,  if  they  could  only  realize  in 
time  the  value  of  the  childhood  they  are  deny 
ing.  One  would  think  that  the  female  sex, 
especially,  would  have  an  innate  knowledge  of 
the  fact  that  it  is  inestimably  better  to  be  even 
a  young  Junebug  than  an  old  Bird  of  Paradise. 

We  drove  home  over  another  road  out  of 
deference  to  the  stumps,  and  I  got  quite  de 
cently  surprised.  Near  Spring  River,  which 
we  had  to  cross  on  our  way,  is  a  deep  gully 
with  hills  on  either  side,  which  is  known  locally 
as  '  the  slough.'  This  slough  is  usually  as  dry 
as  a  chip — please  excuse  my  Old  Town  vernac 
ular,  it  will  crop  up  occasionally — but  at  times 
is  filled  with  backwater  from  Spring  River. 
As  Captain  Taggert  reined  up  Old  Flop  on 
[67] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

the  crest  of  the  hill,  I  knew  by  the  amused  ex 
pression  on  his  face  that  I  was  in  for  a  new 
experience  and  he  was  wondering  how  I  would 
behave. 

"Well!"  he  exclaimed,  "if  that  pesky  old 
slough  isn't  up  again.  I  am  afraid  you  are  in 
for  a  ducking.  I  suppose  you  don't  want  to 
get  out  and  wade  over?  " 

I  thanked  him  and  said  I  was  quite  content 
ed  where  I  was.  He  had  been  rolling  up  the 
laprobe,  giving  it  to  me  to  hold,  turning  up 
his  trousers  rather  high  even  for  Indian  Terri 
tory,  and  acting  generally  as  tho  he  thought 
something  was  likely  to  happen. 

"  Do  you  advocate  the  doctrine  of  immer 
sion  ?  "  I  asked  him. 

"  Now,"  he  answered,  "  you  get  a  good  grip 
on  those  skirts  of  yours  and  sit  on  top  of  the 
seat  back  with  your  feet  on  the  seat,  and  hold 

tight." 

I  asked  which  I  was  to  hold  tight,  he  or  the 
laprobe.  He  said  whichever  I  preferred.  Well, 
I  don't  think  there  is  much  support  in  a  linen 
laprobe,  do  you?  And,  anyway,  I  don't  be 
lieve  in  tempting  Providence  too  far. 

Old  Flop  and  the  slough  were  evidently  old 
friends,  for  he  waded  sedately  in,  deeper  and 
deeper,  until  suddenly  the  water  closed  over 
[68] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

him  and  I  felt  the  buggy  rock  gently  as  it 
floated  after  him  as  he  swam.  I  remarked  to 
Captain  Taggert,  who  was  taking  life  easy 
with  his  feet  on  top  of  the  high  dashboard,  that 
I  was  glad  he  was  along  to  furnish  the  neces 
sary  ballast.  The  water  splashed  gaily  about 
within  a  half  inch  of  the  seat,  and  I  was  just 
beginning  to  worry  for  my  patent  leathers 
when  Old  Flop  struck  bottom  and  we  dripped 
our  way  to  land. 

There  we  waited  until  the  water  ran  out  of 
the  wagon  box — it  has  holes  bored  in  it  for 
just  such  occasions  as  this — before  descending 
from  our  "  bad  eminence  "  and  started  on  our 
way  once  more. 

Captain  Taggert  turned  to  me  with  a  laugh. 
"  I  have  a  good  smoke  coming  to  me  on  this. 
Col.  Davis  bet  me  the  cigars  that  you  would 
scream  if  I  drove  you  thru  the  slough  when  it 
was  up,  and  I  took  him  up  on  it.  Somehow,  I 
didn't  think  you  would." 

I  told  him  I  was  always  glad  to  be  of  service. 
I  couldn't  help  wishing  that  mother  had  been 
in  my  place,  with  her  best  black  silk  gown  on. 
I  am  afraid  she  would  have  been  guilty  of  con 
duct  unbecoming  a  member  in  good  standing. 
I  doubt,  too,  if  the  laprobe  would  have  fared 
as  well  in  her  hands.  It  came  thru  safe  and 
[69] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

dry,  as  did  I,  which,  take  it  altogether,  is 
rather  surprising.  But  if  the  water  had  come 
that  half  inch  higher  I  am  afraid  Captain  Tag- 
gert  would  have  occupied  the  anxious  seat  for 
once  in  his  life  at  least. 

As  ever,  yours, 

JEAN. 


[70] 


HURON  BOARDING  SCHOOL, 
WYANFORT,  INDIAN  TERRITORY 

AUG.  8,  19 — . 
DEAR: 

Your  overdue  letter  came  yesterday  and  I 
am  coming  the  Christian  act  by  answering  it 
at  once.  Not  that  I  make  a  specialty  of  hot 
coals  as  a  rule,  but  I  think  you  need  a  few. 

I  have  had  a  most  interesting  and  profitable 
vacation  so  far,  in  St.  John's  Hospital  in 
Smithfield,  being  relieved  of  my  appendix.  I 
really  didn't  expect  to  mind  so  much  the  loss 
of  a  little  thing  like  that.  I  had  always  con 
sidered  it  a  mere  matter  of  gossip  that  I  pos 
sessed  such  an  article  of  inside  furnishing,  till 
it  suddenly  developed  the  most  unexpected  pow 
ers  of  internal  revolution.  This  was  four 
months  ago,  and,  as  one  of  my  small  pupils 
aptly  expressed  it,  I  have  been  walking  one  side 
lame  ever  since. 

A  friend  in  Smithfield  advised  me  to  come 
there  to  a  small  hospital  conducted  by  the  Sis 
ters,  rather  than  to  the  large  one  in  St.  Louis, 
as  I  had  planned.  I  am  very  glad  I  did  so. 
[71] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

Those  dear  Sisters  petted  and  soothed  and 
nursed  me  thru  those  long,  hot  days  and  nights, 
fed  me  iced  orange  juice  and  tepid  Catholic 
tracts,  and  sent  me  back  to  Wyanfort  healed 
in  body,  and  with  a  new  conception  of  the  lives 
led  by  those  patient-faced  women,  who  so 
gladly  give  up  the  pleasures  of  this  world  in 
anticipation  of  those  of  the  world  to  come. 

I  shall  never  forget  their  kindness  to  me,  any 
more  than  I  shall  forget  the  chromo  which 
hung  on  the  wall  at  the  foot  of  my  bed.  It 
pictured  the  death  scene  of  St.  Joseph,  and 
green,  red  and  blue  robes,  haloes  and  hovering 
angels  with  purple  wings  were  much  in  evi 
dence.  A  most  cheerful  scene  for  a  sick  room, 
especially  if  the  occupant  has  a  fair  eye  for 
color. 

Now  what  I  need  is  a  religion  which  will  help 
me  to  live  right  here,  not  one  which  I  am  to 
treasure  in  death  and  carry  on  to  the  next 
world.  The  world  to  come  will  doubtless  have 
theology  sufficient  for  the  needs  of  its  inhabi 
tants,  and,  anyway,  a  religion  which  has  stood 
the  wear  and  tear  of  this  sphere  must  be  pretty 
well  frayed.  The  worlds  to  come  do  not  trouble 
me  any  more  than  do  the  ones  in  which  I  must 
have  lived  since  the  beginning  of  time.  Each 
successive  stage  must  be  oblivion  to  both  the 
[72] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

past  and  the  future,  and  only  the  crying  needs 
of  the  present  deserve  our  consideration. 

"  Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep  and  a  forgetting, 
The  soul  that  rises  with  us,  our  life's  star, 
Hath  had  elsewhere  its  setting 
And  cometh  from  afar." 

Something  of  this  I  said  to  the  Sister  who 
sat  with  me  thru  the  long,  wakeful  nights,  and 
she  prayed  more  fervently  than  ever  that  I 
might  be  led  to  perceive  the  "  true  light." 
Poor  woman,  I  really  think  she  felt  the  heat 
she  believes  is  to  consume  me. 

So  much  for  opinion.  Who  is  responsible,  I 
wonder,  for  the  direction  in  which  our  mental 
cogs  revolve?  But  to  question  and  wonder  is 
much  like  cutting  our  wisdom  teeth ;  they  cause 
you  a  deal  of  pain  and  trouble  and  you  are  not 
one  whit  wiser  after  you  get  them.  Ah!  well, 
"  What  we  know  is  nothing :  what  we  do  not 
know  is  immense."  It  is  gratifying  to  know 
there  is  something  immense  about  us,  even  if  it 
is  what  we  don't  know. 

Don't  think  death  scenes  were  all  I  had  to 
contemplate.  Captain  Taggert  sent  me  a  big 
bunch  of  roses  every  day  and  they  completely 
changed  the  atmosphere  of  the  whole  room. 
St.  Joseph  made  but  a  poor  showing  in  their 
presence,  tho  he  seemed  to  die  quite  comfort 
ably  day  after  day.  I  couldn't  help  thinking 
[73] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

that  he  made  the  occasion  over-solemn,  like  a 
certain  justice  of  the  peace  in  one  of  Captain 
Taggert's  stories.  A  Western  man  who  had 
frequented  criminal  courts  and  picked  up  a  few 
legal  phrases,  was  elected  justice  of  the  peace. 
One  day  an  eloping  couple  came  to  him  to  be 
married,  and  tho  somewhat  excited  by  the  un 
usual  occurrence,  he  stood  them  up  in  the  cor 
ner  of  the  room  and  proceeded. 

"  Do  you  take  this  man  to  be  your  lawfully 
wedded  wife,  and  promise  to  obey  him?  " 

"  I  do,"  faintly. 

"  Do  you  take  this  woman  to  be  your  wed 
ded  husband?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  Then  by  virtue  of  the  power  in  me  vested 
I  pronounce  you  man  and  wife,  and  may  God 
have  mercy  on  your  souls !  " 

I  was  glad  to  get  back  among  friendly  faces 
again.  This  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  when  I 
have  had  nothing  to  do,  and  I  do  it  extremely 
bad.  My  idleness  will  be  of  short  duration, 
however,  as  school  opens  again  in  September. 
Captain  Taggert  vowed  eternal  vigilance  of 
stumps  if  I  would  try  driving,  and  I  am  getting 
to  know  this  section  of  the  country  fairly  well. 
We  discuss  every  subject  under  the  sun  and  a 
few  that  aren't. 

We  will  be  in  the  midst  of  some  controversy 
[74] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

— we  never  by  any  accident  agree  on  a  sub 
ject — when  whew!  you  take  a  long  breath,  ap 
ply  your  handkerchief,  and  whip  up  Old  Flop. 
The  pigs  do  their  level  best  to  spoil  the  land 
scape,  and  if  they  can't  do  it  by  living,  they 
cheerfully  die  to  accomplish  it.  You  see,  every 
renter  and  Indian  owns  a  few  pigs,  which  they 
brand  and  turn  out  to  live  on  acorns  and  their 
neighbor's  crops.  Some  of  them — the  pigs — 
are  continually  getting  cholera,  and  they  al 
ways  choose  the  side  of  the  road  on  which  the 
flowers  grow  as  an  expiring  place,  with  the 
result  above  mentioned.  They  never  by  any 
chance  die  near  home,  consequently  they  are 
never  buried,  for  who  is  going  to  trouble  to  dig 
a  grave  for  someone  else's  pig? 

Well,  they  make  good  punctuation  marks 
for  our  conversation,  so  perhaps  they  have 
served  their  purpose. 

Sometime  ago  I  noticed  that  my  arms  were 
blotched  with  little  red  spots.  A  first  I  attrib 
uted  them  to  the  heat,  which  has  been  excessive, 
but  they  seemed  to  increase  in  number  daily. 

Shortly  afterward,  one  morning  as  I  was 
making  my  bed,  I  noticed  a  nice,  red  bug  on 
the  quilt.  Now,  back  in  the  years'  dim  distance 
I  may  have  seen  a  bedbug,  but  I  never  had  a 
sleeping  acquaintance  with  one,  and  I  didn't 
like  to  trust  my  intuition  too  far.  There  are 
[75] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

so  many  bugs  here  that  are  strange  to  me, 
and  I  didn't  want  to  call  one  names  unjustly, 
so  I  persuaded  Mr.  Bug  to  crawl  on  a  piece  of 
paper,  which  he  did  quite  reluctantly,  and  I 
carried  him  downstairs  and  asked  the  clerk, 
Mr.  Freemont,  a  remarkably  nice  young  man 
with  "  A  book  of  verses  underneath  the  bough  " 
expression,  if  '  it '  was  a  bedbug. 

"  It  surely  is,"  he  replied.  "  A  nice,  fat, 
juicy  one;  you  must  have  fed  him  well." 

I  thought  me  of  the  spots  on  my  arms  and 
went  sorrowfully  back  upstairs.  Bedbugs  are 
like  trouble.  Let  some  incident  open  your  eyes 
to  its  existence  and  set  you  searching  and  you 
find  it  everywhere.  I  found  bugs  in  the  bed,  in 
the  creases  of  the  quilts,  in  the  wardrobe,  and 
even  in  the  seams  of  my  clothes.  A  party  of 
us  went  over  to  the  hotel  in  town  for  a  Sunday 
dinner  and  one  of  the  girls  picked  a  bug  off  the 
front  of  my  white  dress,  where  it  was  evidently 
trying  to  work  up  a  color  scheme  of  its  own. 
It  should  have  known  better,  for  I  never  wear 
red  at  least  knowingly. 

All  this  happened  soon  after  my  appendix 
had  gone  on  the  warpath,  and  I  had  neither 
the  energy  nor  the  unselfishness  to  retaliate. 
My  coming  back  at  all  was  too  problematical, 
and  I  was  not  in  the  mood  for  killing  bedbugs 
for  someone  else's  comfort.  So  I  slept  in  an 
adjoining  room  by  night  and  searched  my 
[76] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

clothes  for  foreign  matter  by  day.  I  imagine 
my  Knights  of  the  Bedposts  missed  me  exceed 
ingly  during  my  sojourn  in  Smithfield.  It  is 
nice  to  be  missed,  and  I  used  to  think  of  them 
as  I  lay  on  my  inflated  mattress  in  the  hospital, 
and  hoped  they  would  not  die  of  starvation  in 
my  absence.  I  wanted  the  pleasure  of  killing 
them  by  a  more  humane  method. 

Had  I  known  as  much  about  them  as  I  do 
now,  I  should  have  spared  myself  the  idea  of 
their  starving.  For  persistent,  indefatigable 
energy,  commend  me  to  the  bedbug.  He  will 
live  longer  and  go  farther  on  nothing  than 
any  bug  I  know  of,  except,  perhaps  a  goldbug 
just  before  election.  Judged  from  a  bug 
standpoint,  I  find  no  blemish  in  him.  He  is  far 
handsomer  than  many  of  his  relatives  against 
whom  we  raise  no  such  hue  and  cry.  The  only 
objection  I  have  to  him  is  the  way  he  gets  his 
living. 

On  my  return  to  the  school  I  began  exter 
minating  operations.  The  school  physician, 
whom  I  had  enlisted  in  the  warfare,  concocted 
a  mixture  of  some  vile-smelling  stuff  which  he 
burned  in  my  room  for  twenty-four  hours.  He 
warranted  it  to  kill  any  vermin  living.  I  have 
decided  that  bedbugs  have  no  olfactory  nerves, 
for  that  odor  alone  would  have  sufficed  to  kill 
anything  within  smelling  distance.  My  room 
[77] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

was  as  full  of  sulphur  fumes  as  a  certain  un- 
namable  place  is  said  to  be.  But  bedbugs  don't 
mind  a  little  thing  like  that.  They  were  doing 
business  at  the  old  stand  next  day  as  briskly  as 
ever. 

My  room  was  in  a  state  of  seige  for  two 
weeks.  Everything  movable  was  taken  out, 
except  the  enemy,  and  we  painted  and  papered 
the  walls,  puttied  up  the  cracks,  fumigated  the 
atmosphere,  used  enough  good  government 
gasoline  to  last  an  old  clothes  Israelite  for  a 
year,  and  at  the  end  I  sat  down  in  my  rehabili 
tated  room  and  cried  "  Veni,  vidi,  vici,"  and 
not  a  solitary  bedbug  was  left  to  poke  its  head 
out  of  a  crack  and  bite  defiance.  If  this  letter 
smelleth  strange  to  your  nostrils  you  will  un 
derstand  the  cause.  It  came  in  for  its  legiti 
mate  share  of  fumigation. 

I  shall  not  be  at  all  surprised  to  learn  that  I 
have  been  sending  bedbugs  to  my  friends  in  my 
letters.  If  I  have,  they  are  likely  to  prove  more 
interesting  than  did  their  means  of  transporta 
tion. 

You  will  be  glad  to  learn  that  Superintend 
ent  Marks,  of  Crow  River,  has  been  promoted 
to  a  better  school  in  North  Dakota.  That  was 
a  quarrel  in  which  both  sides  came  out  ahead, 
or  behind,  as  you  choose  to  regard  it.  The 
agent  is  now  both  agent  and  superintendent 
[78] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

and  is  rid  of  Mr.  Marks.  Mr.  Marks  is  super 
intendent  of  a  better  school,  at  a  higher  salary, 
and  is  rid  of  the  agent  and  Crow  River  dust. 
Thus  doth  our  all-wise  Uncle  Sam  preserve  the 
peace  where  peace  there  is  none.  I  wish  I  had 
his  faculty  of  keeping  what  I  haven't  got.  Pos 
sibly  if  I  stay  in  the  Indian  Service  long 
enough  I  shall  have.  I  have  heard  it  hinted 
that  government  employees  learn  the  knack 
quite  easily. 

From  my  window  I  can  see  Captain  Taggert 
harnessing  Old  Flop,  and  that  means  he  expects 
me  to  go  for  a  drive.  He  is  a  brave  man,  who 
is  afraid  of  neither  bedbugs  nor  Yankee  school- 
ma'ams. 

As  ever,  with  love, 

JEAN. 

P.  S. — The  spots  have  left  my  arms,  thank 
you. 


[79] 


HURON  BOARDING  SCHOOL, 
WYANFORT,  INDIAN  TERRITORY 

SEPT.  20,  19—. 
DEAR: 

The  entire  school  force  is  laughing  over  an 
incident  which  occurred  last  Tuesday  week,  an 
incident,  by  the  way,  which  illustrates  the  fact 
that  the  best  of  laws  may  be  broken  by  people 
with  the  best  of  intentions,  and  that,  too,  with 
quite  satisfactory  results. 

I  think  I  have  previously  mentioned  that  the 
sale  of  intoxicating  drinks,  of  all  kinds  what 
soever,  is  strictly  forbidden  in  Indian  Terri 
tory,  not  only  to  Indians,  but  to  whites  as  well. 
It  is  unlawful  to  have  in  your  possession  a 
'  cold  bottle '  of  any  description,  no  matter 
how  soft  the  contents  may  be,  or  how  high  the 
thermometer  may  soar.  Also,  it  is  natural  that 
the  employees  of  this  agency,  since  in  a  way 
they  represent  the  government  at  Washington, 
which  the  people  of  this  reserve  have  just  cause 
to  venerate,  are  expected  to  be  bright  and  shin 
ing  lights  amid  the  surrounding  density  and, 
[81] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

above   all  else,  to  place  no   liquid  stumbling- 
block  in  their  red  brothers'  paths. 

Well,  we  are  and  we  don't,  yet  one  of  the 
same  red  brothers — I  say  red  out  of  courtesy 
to  the  geography  I  studied  in  Oldtown,  but  he 
isn't  red  at  all;  he  isn't  even  pink — had  good 
cause  to  be  grateful  to  those  of  us  whose  gen 
eral  broadmindedness  had  induced  us  to  give  a 
liberal  interpretation  to  this  special  law.  To 
be  sure,  there  was  direct  tangible  evidence  of 
this  brother's  broad  view  of  things  in  general, 
and  the  prohibition  clause  in  particular,  but  I 
grieve  to  say  that  the  flask  was  nearly  empty. 
There  wasn't  nearly  enough  in  it  to  cure  the 
bite  of  a  mad  dog,  and  Captain  Taggert,  who 
is  the  red  brother  in  question,  was  indeed  grate 
ful  to  us  whose  flasks  were  in  a  more  prosperous 
condition. 

There  is  a  four-foot  picket  fence  at  the  foot 
of  the  school  grounds,  and  the  points  of  those 
pickets  are  exceedingly  sharp,  as  certain  young 
ladies  who  climbed  over  them  in  something  less 
than  three  seconds — government  time,  slow — 
can  testify.  I  think  I  must  resemble  Sam  an  thy 
Allen,  insomuch  that  when  I  start  to  tell  a 
story  I  ramble  all  over  the  Lord's  creation 
and  a  part  of  Canada  before  I  can  settle  down 
and  get  the  thing  out  of  my  system. 

I  started  out  to  tell  you  that  last  Tuesday 
[82] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

week  Captain  Taggert  was  bitten  by  a  mad 
dog  and  how  we  saved  him,  and  here  I  have  the 
prohibition  clause,  Monteith's  Comprehensive 
Geography,  our  picket  fence,  government  time 
and  all  of  the  school  employees  mixed  up  in  the 
recital,  or  what  would  have  been  the  recital  had 
I  ever  begun.  You  do  not  need  to  feel  called 
upon  to  petition  the  Interior  Department  for 
a  keeper  for  me.  I  am  quite  sane,  if  this  letter 
does  read  as  tho  a  mad  dog  had  been  let  loose 
in  it. 

I  am  going  to  make  one  more  brave  attempt 
to  tell  you  about  Captain's  being  bitten,  and  I 
will  endeavor  to  keep  the  government  out  of  it 
this  time.  I  have  as  much  difficulty  in  keeping 
Uncle  Sam  out  of  my  letters  as  Mr.  Dick  had 
in  keeping  Charles  the  First  out  of  his  Me 
morial.  O !  Lordy,  there  I  go  again !  My  fail 
ure  to  analyze  the  prohibition  clause  correctly 
isn't  to  blame  for  my  incoherence,  either,  for 
there  wasn't  so  much  as  an  odor  left  in  the  bot 
tle  I  had  secretly  cherished  for  so  long.  Not 
that  I  have  any  regrets  in  the  matter,  for  that 
bite  was  really  a  bad  one,  and  heroic  measures 
— pints,  mostly — were  necessary. 

I  have  circled  back  to  that  bite  again,  I  see. 

I  begin   to   entertain   hopes   of   spinning   that 

yarn  yet.     You  see — it  is  barely  possible  that 

you  don't — Captain  Taggert  and  several  fair 

[83] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

charmers  had  been  over  town  that  evening. 
We  had  sauntered  home  and  had  nearly 
reached  that  picket  fence  when  a  dog  passed 
us  running  with  lolling  tongue  and  with 
eyes  staring  straight  ahead.  It  passed  so  close 
to  Captain  Taggert  that  almost  unconsciously 
he  reached  out  his  hand  to  touch  it,  and  the 
motion,  slight  as  it  was,  was  sufficient  to  attract 
the  animal's  attention,  and  with  a  snarl  it 
leaped  for  Captain's  throat.  He  stood  his 
ground  and  caught  the  brute  by  the  neck,  call 
ing  to  us  to  "  run  and  get  an  axe."  Superflu 
ous  advice  it  was,  for  we  were  over  that  fence 
and  half  way  up  the  hill  before  that  dog  knew 
what  had  happened  to  him.  The  school  carpen 
ter  ran  down  with  a  club,  and  poor  doggie's 
troubles  were  soon  over.  Captain  Taggert's, 
however,  had  only  begun.  There  was  a  nasty 
looking  wound  on  the  back  of  his  hand  and 
the  indications  were  pretty  fair  that  the  animal 
who  made  it  was  mad. 

"  You  have  got  to  have  some  whiskey,  quick, 
Cap,"  said  the  Superintendent.  "  We  have 
some  at  the  cottage  which  we  keep  in  case 
father  should  be  ill,"  and  the  Superintendent 
disappeared. 

"  I  really  do  think  a  little  brandy  would  be 
good  for  you,"  said  Mrs.  Barber,  a  severely 
pious  woman.  "  I  have  a  very  little  which  I 
[84] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

keep  on  hand  for  fear  one  of  the  children  should 
be  taken  suddenly  sick,"  and  Mrs.  Barber  dis 
appeared. 

"  You  must  have  s-some  whiskey  right  s-soon, 
Captain,"  stammered  excited  little  Miss  Alice. 
"  I  have  s-some  I  got  for — ,"  and  Miss  Alice 
disappeared. 

"  I  think  I  have  a  little  snake-bite  cure  in  my 
room,"  said  Mr.  Freemont,  and  he  also  went  his 
way. 

"  Miss  Smith,"  said  Captain  Taggert  to  the 
only  employee  in  sight,  "  there  is  a  bottle  of 
something  in  the  left  hand  dresser  drawer  in 
my  room.  Will  you  fetch  it,  please?  "  and  the 
Captain  was  left  alone  to  nurse  his  wounded 
hand. 

Presently  came  the  Superintendent  with  a 
pint  bottle  of  Old  Bourbon.  Came  Mrs.  Bar 
ber  with  a  quart  bottle  of  brandy.  Came  little 
Miss  Alice  with  a  pint  bottle — half  full — of 
Kentucky  rye.  Came  Mr.  Freemont  with  a 
bottle  of  gin.  Came  several  more  bottles  with 
bearers.  Came  Miss  Smith  with  Captain  Tag- 
gert's  own  bottle,  but  it  was  too  nearly  empty 
to  be  of  any  service,  as  I  tried  to  tell  you  some 
time  ago.  And  it  is  a  misdemeanor  to  "  buy, 
sell,  barter,  give  away,  or  have  in  your  posses 
sion  " !  Well,  well,  we  are  all  doubtless  doomed 
[85] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

to  perdition,  but  we  prevented  Captain  Tag- 
gert's  making  a  premature  entrance,  anyway. 

Captain  acted  strange  for  several  days,  but 
no  one  seemed  to  blame  the  dog  at  all.  I  no 
ticed  on  the  following  Saturday  that  an  un 
usual  number  of  the  employees  went  to  the 
nearest  Missouri  town,  to  shop,  they  said.  I 
sent  my  flask  by  Miss  Alice.  I  am  a  peaceful, 
lawabiding  citizen,  usually,  but  if  I  must  choose 
between  a  mad  dog  and  my  Uncle  Sam,  I  take 
my  Uncle  every  time.  And  alas,  alas,  I  am 
again  forcibly  reminded  of  Mr.  Dick  and 
Charles  the  First,  and  there  isn't  even  a  donkey 
about  to  create  a  diversion. 

I  suppose  I  may  as  well  give  up  trying  and 
let  our  Uncle  Samuel  crop  up  in  my  letters  in 
the  usual  unexpected  places.  It's  a  habit  the 
old  gentleman  has,  I  notice,  and  habits  in  the 
old  are  stubborn  things. 

I  am  very  sore  on  the  bedbug  question,  and 
I  fully  expected  a  liberal  dose  of  sympathy 
from  you,  and  behold!  I  get  only  cold  criti 
cal  doubts  concerning  my  mental  condition. 
You  say  that  anyone  with  half  a  mind  would 
have  known  what  was  the  matter  from  the  first, 
and  that  I  must  have  been  a  very  careless 
housekeeper  not  to  have  found  them  out  sooner. 
I  am  not  in  a  position  to  argue  the  first  point 
with  you.  I  never  had  the  pleasure  of  having 
[86] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

only  half  a  mind.  Mine  is  sound  and  whole,  to 
the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief — yours  to 
to  contrary  notwithstanding — and  I  am  not 
going  to  have  it  cut  in  twain  for  the  doubtful 
honor  of  recognizing  bedbug  bites  when  I  see 
them. 

As  for  being  careless,  I  hereby  challenge 
every  housewife  in  this  broad  land  to  say 
whether,  to  their  combined  knowledge,  a  bedbug 
was  ever  known  to  be  visible  in  the  daytime. 
Where  they  hide,  I  leave  it  to  the  furniture 
manufacturers  to  say,  for  they  are  in  league 
with  them,  I  know,  or  why  all  the  needless 
nooks  and  crevices  in  our  modern  bedsteads? 

You  may  anoint  a  feather  with  poison  and 
insert  it  in  every  crack  visible  to  the  naked  eye, 
but  you  wont  damage  anything  except  the  var 
nish.  The  manufacturer  watches  out  for  his 
own,  and  supplies  secret  tunnels  and  hidden  re 
cesses  in  case  of  sudden  attack.  Let  a  bed 
become  thoroly  infested  and  there  is  no  known 
cure  except  another  bed,  as  their  maker  well 
knows.  And  I  don't  speak  as  do  the  scribes, 
either.  If  there  is  one  subject  on  which  I  am 
competent  to  speak  with  authority,  that  sub 
ject  is  my  late  friends,  the  bedbugs. 

Hereafter,  when  I  am  looking  for  sympathy, 
I  shall  cry  my  wares  in  another  market.  You 
also  remark  that  you  are  not  particularly  in- 
[87] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

terested  in  bedbugs,  and  would  much  prefer  to 
hear  about  Indians.  So  you  shall,  my  dear. 
Indians  are  of  two  kinds  only,  viz. :  male  and 
female,  good  and  bad,  light  and  dark,  indus 
trious  and  lazy,  frugal  and  extravagant,  large 
and  small,  bright  and  stupid,  rich  and  poor; 
in  fact,  they  are  "  even  as  you  and  I."  Which 
valuable  addition  to  your  store  of  information 
will,  I  hope,  make  you  more  charitable  and 
sympathetic  with  the  woes  of, 

Yours  afflicted, 

JEAN. 


[88] 


HURON  INDIAN  SCHOOL, 
WYANFORT,  INDIAN  TERRITORY 

Nov.  15, 19—. 
DEAR: 

"  Truth  is  stranger  than  fiction."  I  know 
my  originality  will  surprise  you,  but  of  late  I 
have  been  led  to  think  that  occasionally  there 
may  be  a  grain  of  truth  in  some  of  our  over 
worked  quotations.  There  is  no  imagination 
in  the  circumstances  which  called  out  the  above 
remark.  I  may  at  times,  from  my  stock  of 
miscellaneous  misinformation,  pawn  off  on  you 
a  little  harmless  second-hand  fiction,  but  I  do 
so  from  strictly  conscientious  principles,  for 
your  Puritan  work-twenty-four-hours-per-day 
conscience  worries  me  considerably.  I  am  a  mem 
ber  of  the  Consolidated  Conscience  Union,  and 
when  mine  has  labored  more  or  less  faithfully 
for  eight  consecutive  hours  I  give  it  the  rest  it 
deserves.  So  sometimes  it  has  leisure  to  gather 
a  rose  or  two  amid  the  waste  of  thorny  mem 
ories  in  which  it  delights  to  exist.  I  don't  ap 
prove  of  bringing  up  one's  conscience  to  be 
color-blind  to  every  thing  but  black.  It  is  a 
[89] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

tiresome  companion  at  best,  and  I  am  trying 
to  educate  mine  to  recognize  some  of  the  tints 
and  shades  in  this  rainbow  of  complex  actions. 
Nevertheless,  it  has  reminded  me  quite  fre 
quently  of  an  act  which  left  a  brown  paper 
taste  in  my  mouth  at  the  time,  altho  I  never  ex 
pected  to  be  confronted  with  any  results  at 
this  late  hour. 

It  chanced  that  I  was  in  St.  Louis  alone 
for  two  days  during  the  exposition.  I  felt  as 
forlorn  as  Crusoe  himself  alone  in  that  desert 
of  strange  faces,  and  I  registered  a  vow  then 
and  there  never  to  venture  alone  in  a  crowd 
again,  if  I  had  to  misappropriate  a  yellow  dog 
for  company.  The  second  day  I  had  found  my 
lonely  way  up  to  the  Anthropological  Build 
ing,  hoping  to  see  a  familiar  face,  for  I  knew 
that  a  model  Indian  School  was  being  conduct 
ed  there,  composed  of  pupils  and  teachers  from 
the  Indian  Service.  I  was  standing  in  front  of 
the  exhibit  from  Chilocco,  the  second  largest 
Indian  School,  listening  to  the  remarks  people 
made  as  they  stared  at  the  display — remarks 
which  showed  how  ignorant  the  average  Ameri 
can  is  regarding  a  system  of  Indian  education, 
for  the  support  of  which  he  is  duly  taxed — 
when  I  noticed  such  a  nice  looking  young  man 
just  across  from  me.  He  seemed  to  be  alone, 
too,  and  was  looking  my  way. 
[90] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

Presently  he  crossed  over  to  my  side  of  the 
hall,  seemingly  interested  in  the  exhibit.  You 
may  cut  my  acquaintance  hereafter  if  you 
choose,  but  I  turned  and  spoke  to  him.  I 
haven't  any  idea  what  I  said,  but  I  didn't  say 
any  more  of  it,  for  his  majesty  answered  me 
quite  loftily,  as  tho  he  didn't  approve  of 
strange  females,  and  just  then  a  girl  came 
along  from  another  part  of  the  building  and 
they  went  away  together,  so  he  wasn't  alone, 
after  all. 

Now,  that  wasn't  a  bit  nice  of  me,  as  my 
conscience  has  dutifully  reminded  me  at  divers 
times,  yet  I  had  not  lain  awake  nights  because 
of  it,  till  last  week,  when  I  was  unexpectedly 
brought  face  to  face  with  the  consequences  of 
my  rash  act. 

I  understand  La  Follette  sees  to  it  that  you 
people  of  Wisconsin  do  not  have  to  go  outside 
your  own  borders  in  search  of  political  diffi 
culties,  yet  you  may  have  chanced  to  hear  that 
Oklahoma  and  Indian  Territory  are  in  the 
midst  of  their  statehood  throes  and  we  don't 
know  yet  whether  it  will  be  twins,  or  not.  With 
Oklahoma  clamoring  for  joint  statehood,  In 
dian  Territory  frantically  petitioning  for  sep 
arate  statehood,  and  a  large  faction  in  both 
territories  wanting  no  statehood  at  all,  what 
[91] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

the  outcome  will  be  no  one  can  tell,  except,  of 
course,  the  politicians,  who  can  tell  anything. 

The  white  merchants  of  Wyanfort  in  August 
held  their  annual  Indian  Green  Corn  Feast — 
see  the  nigger  in  the  fence? — in  the  grove  just 
beyond  the  town,  and  we  school  people  drove 
over  one  evening.  We  had  drawn  our  camp 
stools  in  a  circle  and  were  watching  things  in 
general  and  the  Superintendent's  dear  little 
baby  girl  in  particular,  when  Captain  Taggert 
brought  up  such  a  nice  looking  young  man, 
whom  he  introduced  as  Mr.  Gordon,  a  reporter 
for  a  Muskogee  newspaper.  Mr.  Gordon  had 
been  sent  to  Wyanfort  by  the  leaders  of  the  Se- 
quoyah  movement  to  enlist  Captain  Taggert's 
aid  in  the  separate  statehood  campaign. 

Mr.  Gordon  joined  our  circle  and  conversa 
tion  became  general  till  he  turned  to  me  with 
the  question,  "  I  have  seen  you  before,  have  I 
not?" 

I  denied  the  honor  immediately,  and  justly, 
too,  for  I  didn't  know  him  at  all,  but  I'll  wager 
my  new  tan  oxfords  that  he  thought  I  was 
fabricating. 

"  Were  you  at  the  St.  Louis  Exposition  in 
August?"  he  asked  next.  I  plead  guilty,  of 
course. 

"  Were  you  at  the  Anthropological  Building 
[92] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

one  afternoon  ?  "  Then  I  knew !  I  answered 
"  Yes  "  quite  meekly. 

"  I  saw  you  there,"  he  said. 

"But,  Mr.  Gordon,"  I  objected,  "do  you 
mean  to  say  that  you  remember  the  faces  of 
people  whom  you  meet  in  a  crowd  like  that?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  do,  if  any  incident 
occurs  to  impress  their  faces  on  my  memory." 

You  may  be  sure  I  did  not  ask  him  what  the 
incident  was  to  which  I  was  indebted  for  his 
recollection  of  me,  and  he  left  us  shortly  after 
ward,  and  I  didn't  see  him  again.  Now,  who 
would  dream  that  a  perfectly  harmless  remark, 
dropped  so  long  before  in  a  crowded  city, 
would  suddenly  rise  from  the  ground  at  an  In 
dian  feast  in  the  wilds  of  Indian  Territory  to 
confront  the  dropee?  No  doubt  that  dignified 
reporter — he  descends  from  Boston,  by  the  way, 
and  carries  his  credentials  with  him — thinks  I 
go  about  addressing  remarks  to  strange  young 
men,  as  a  matter  of  course.  If  I  ever  see  him 
again — I  shall  know  him  next  time — I  shall 
enlighten  his  understanding  a  little.  It's  quite 
evident  he  does  not  know  a  nice  girl  when  he 
sees  one,  and  it's  not  safe  for  him  to  be  at  large 
in  that  condition. 

I  wonder  if  you  would  be  interested  in  our 
statehood  movement.  I  am,  intensely  so,  only 
I  can't  see  as  things  move  any  faster  because 
[93] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

of  it.  And  I  am  not  in  favor  of  statehood, 
either,  at  least  for  Indian  Territory.  I  am 
perfectly  willing  that  Oklahoma  should  fight 
her  own  battles,  but  she  has  no  business  forcing 
her  quarrels  on  us.  By  "  us,"  I  mean  the  In 
dian  population  of  Indian  Territory.  The 
present  situation  is  another  case  of  the  Arab 
and  his  camel.  The  white  settlers  were  allowed 
to  come  here,  and  now  they  think  they  own  the 
reserve,  forgetting  that  first,  last  and  always, 
it  is  Indian  Territory. 

Indian  allotted  land  cannot  be  sold,  but  in 
herited  land  may  be,  and  since  Indians  have 
human  nature  enough  to  die,  even  as  the  white 
man  dieth,  a  small  per  cent  of  the  land  has 
come  to  be  owned  by  white  settlers.  A  much 
larger  portion  is  leased  by  white  prospectors 
and  capitalists.  It  is  a  poor  man's  paradise, 
for  there  are  no  taxes  to  pay,  not  even  a  road 
tax  to  work  out,  nor  will  there  be  as  long  as 
Indian  Territory  remains  in  her  present  condi 
tion.  Since  with  statehood  comes  taxes,  a  large 
number  of  the  white  settlers  are  opposed  to  the 
change.  Occasionally  you  find  one  with  suffi 
cient  public  spirit  to  welcome  the  project,  con 
scious  of  the  added  advantages,  and  fully  aware 
of  his  own  splendid  qualifications  for  governor 
or  justice  of  the  peace. 

So  much  for  the  white  man's  point  of  view, 
[94] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

for  which  I  don't  care  a  green  persimmon.  He 
had  no  business  coming  here  if  he  was  not  will 
ing  to  live  under  existing  conditions.  I  argue 
from  the  Indian's  standpoint.  On  the  surface, 
statehood  doesn't  mean  much  of  a  change  to 
him.  His  land  will  still  be  inalienable,  still  be 
exempt  from  taxation,  according  to  the  terms 
of  a  treaty  the  provisions  of  which  are  effec 
tive  for  some  twenty  years  to  come.  The  aver 
age  Indian  cannot  see  how  statehood  will  affect 
him,  unless,  indeed,  it  changes  the  prohibition 
clause,  as  it  is  extremely  likely  to  do,  and  few 
of  them  will  object  seriously  to  that.  Not 
many  of  them  are  far-sighted  enough  to  see 
that  a  state  with  the  greater  part  of  the  land 
inalienable  and  free  from  taxation  is  as  much 
an  impossibility  as  mosquitoes  at  Christmas. 
Just  as  surely  as  Indian  Territory  becomes  a 
state,  just  so  surely  will  her  representatives  in 
Congress  introduce  a  bill  removing  the  restric 
tions  from  all  Indian  land,  treaty  or  no  treaty, 
and  the  Indians  will  awaken  some  fine  morning 
to  find  that  they  may  sell  their  land  when  and 
how  they  please,  and  that  hereafter  they  have 
the  unutterable  bliss  of  paying  taxes. 

This  condition  of  things  would  be  fair  enough 

provided  Indians  were  white  men,  but  the  fact 

remains  that  they  are  not.     However  far  they 

have  advanced  on  the  road,  the  goal  is  not  yet 

[95] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

reached.  The  average  Indian  will  sell  his  last 
acre  and  in  a  year's  time  have  nothing  to  show 
for  it.  What  then?  The  discussed  restricting 
clause,  making  a  homestead  of  forty  acres  in 
alienable,  will  help  some,  but  in  time  that  will 
be  struck  out  also.  Our  politicians  seldom  do 
things  by  halves,  providing  they  once  get  the 
chance  to  do  the  first  half,  and  in  speaking  of 
politicians,  you  have  the  clue  to  the  whole  situ 
ation. 

Will  you  for  one  minute  think  of  the  offices 
to  be  filled  in  every  town  and  county  should 
we  get  statehood?  Do  you  wonder  that  a  few 
men  in  every  locality,  with  the  office  bee  buzz 
ing  away  in  their  bonnets  for  dear  life,  are 
arguing  and  exhorting  for  statehood?  All  the 
plausible  reasons  which  they  can  put  forth,  and 
from  the  white  man's  standpoint  they  are  many 
and  good,  cannot  alter  the  fact  that  the  Indi 
ans  are  not  yet  ready  for  it.  Uncle  Sam  has 
spent  many  good  dollars  on  Poor  Lo  in  his 
journeyings  upward  to  usefulness  and  inde 
pendence.  He  will  realize  but  a  poor  return 
on  his  money  if  he  discounts  the  loan  before  it 
matures.  There  is  no  use  in  baking  a  batch  of 
bread  if  you  take  it  from  the  oven  half  baked. 

You  may  advance  the  theory  of  the  survival 
of  the  fittest  if  you  like,  but  that  is  not  the 
theory  on  which  our  government  has  treated 
[96] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

the  Indians  the  past  two  decades.  It  has  tried 
rather  to  make  them  fit  to  survive,  to  enable 
them  to  meet  the  onrush  of  civilization  and  hold 
their  own,  and  results  show  it  can  be  done.  It 
seems  to  me,  as  far  as  the  Indians  of  this  Ter 
ritory  are  concerned,  that  if  our  government 
sanctions  the  petition  for  statehood,  it  will 
"  have  set  up  a  mark  for  the  purpose  of  miss 
ing  it." 

I  wish  there  was  an  official  bag  large  enough 
to  put  our  over-zealous  politicians  in  and  shake 
them  up  "  good  and  plenty."  It  would  be  in 
teresting  to  see  what  would  come  out  after  the 
ceremony.  The  only  thing  that  makes  me  at 
all  reconciled  to  the  situation  is  the  fact  that 
should  statehood  be  forced  upon  us,  the  good 
old  Democratic  party  will  be  in  the  ascend 
ency.  Now  in  your  next  I  shall  find  a  quota 
tion  which  will  contain  these  three  words :  con 
sistency,  woman,  and  jewel.  All  right,  fire 
away,  I  shall  be  prepared. 

As  ever,  with  love, 

JEAN. 

P.  S. — I  have  delayed  sending  this  letter  till 
after  the  election  of  delegates  to  the  Constitu 
tional  Convention,  in  hopes  I  might  be  able  to 
cheer  your  good  Republican  heart  with  tidings 
of  a  glorious  Democratic  victory.  My  hopes  are 
realized,  for  about  ninety-nine  and  nine-tenths 
[97] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

of  the  delegates  are  Democratic.  I  almost  pity 
that  "  submerged  tenth,"  don't  you?  Just 
watch  out  for  the  proceedings  of  that  conven 
tion,  will  you?  I'll  wager  it  turns  out  a  Con 
stitution  which  will  make  other  state  Consti 
tutions  appear  as  modern  as  the  Book  of  Job. 
It  isn't  often  that  Democrats  get  the  chance  to 
be  so  entirely  the  whole  thing,  and  it  will  be 
their  own  fault  if  they  fail  to  have  the  time  of 
their  lives. 

The  local  election  was  entirely  satisfactory. 
Only  good  Democratic  delegates  go  from  Qua- 
paw  County — or  what  will  be  Quapaw  County 
if  prophecies  come  true.  Our  Superintendent, 
an  ardent  Republican,  called  up  Miami  the 
evening  of  the  election  and  asked  for  the  results 
of  the  day's  voting. 

"  Only  Democrats  elected,"  came  the  answer. 

"  Give  me  Republican  headquarters,  please." 

"  Can't.  Every  Republican  in  town  has  gone 
to  bed,"  and  the  Superintendent  rang  off  and 
went  and  did  likewise.  Showed  their  good 
sense,  I  think.  Bed  is  a  good  place  to  go  when 
we  are  aching  from  defeat  or  malaria  or  any 
of  the  other  aches  we  may  have  handed  out  to 
us.  Mine  is  the  malarial  brand  just  now.  That's 
a  disease  that  doesn't  make  you  half  as  ill  as 
angry.  People  only  laugh  at  you  when  you 
get  stiff  in  the  joints  and  have  liver  spots  on 
[98] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

your  face.  A  proper  respect  for  our  complex 
ions  leads  us  to  adopt  a  diet  of  lemons  and 
quinine,  which  we  wouldn't  do  had  we  a  like 
regard  for  our  tempers. 

Achingly  yours, 

JEAN. 


[99] 


OLD  TOWN,  N.  Y. 

MAY  16,  19—. 


DEAR: 


Dear  girl,  I  wonder  how  I  am  ever  to  explain 
to  you  the  silence  of  the  past  year.  You  have 
been  your  kind  self,  and  have  written  me  the 
same  dear,  cheerful  letters  that  you  always 
write,  without  one  word  in  reply.  And  your 
letters  have  helped,  some,  as  much  as  anything 
could  help  such  a  severe  attack  of  give-it-up- 
ness  as  I  have  suffered  from  the  past  twelve 
months. 

Do  you  remember  Miss  Conley,  of  Crow 
River?  I  recall  a  favorite  misquotation  of 
hers: 

I  never  had  a  piece  of  bread,  particularly  large  and  wide, 
But  what  it  fell  upon  the  ground,  and  always  on  the 
buttered  side. 

Those  two  lines  fit  the  case  exactly.  I  was 
fonder  of  this  particular  piece  of  bread  than  I 
had  imagined  it  possible  for  me  to  be.  It  was 
well  buttered,  too,  to  the  very  edge,  and  had  a 
generous  coating  of  English  marmalade  on  top. 
[101] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

O!  these  Englishmen!  I  suppose  it  serves  me 
right  for  falling  in  love  with  one,  instead  of  a 
home-grown  product,  but  love  isn't  a  matter  of 
creeds  and  nationalities.  Dear,  for  a  time  I 
was  so  happy  it  hurt.  I  lived  with  my  head  in 
the  clouds  and  did  all  sorts  of  queer  stunts 
with  my  feet  in  consequence. 

I  know  we  poor  mortals  are  not  constituted 
to  endure  the  tension  of  living  keyed  up  to  such 
a  pitch,  and  since  I  had  to  come  down  to  earth 
some  time,  perhaps  it  was  just  as  well  that  I 
should  make  the  descent  alone.  Only  I  should 
have  preferred  to  have  made  it  less  abruptly. 
This  inhabiting  a  rose-tinted  castle  in  the 
clouds  one  day,  and  burrowing  in  a  hole  in  the 
ground  the  next,  isn't  exactly  conducive  to — 
well,  let  us  say  equanimity. 

It  is  worse  than  useless  to  conjecture  what 
might  have  been  had  I  married  him  then,  as  he 
urged ;  but  I  put  it  off,  and  the  crash  came 
which  flung  him,  marmalade  side  down,  in  the 
mire,  and,  for  all  I  know,  he  may  be  lying  there 

yet. 

I  will  ask  you  to  bid  adieu  to  Mr.  English 
man.  He  shot  into  my  little  Yankee  orbit  like 
a  comet  out  of  the  void,  and  as  promptly  shot 
out  again.  If  he  succeeded  in  putting  me  out 
of  my  course  for  a  time,  it  was  only  for  a  time, 
[102] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

but  the  deviation  left  me  with  a  wholesome 
respect  for  that  style  of  celestial  interference. 

I  think  the  past  few  years  I  have  failed  to 
have  a  proper  respect  for  my  own  limitations. 
I  have  had  my  customary  allowance  of  troubles, 
but  I  have  managed  to  entertain  them  and  keep 
my  appetite,  and  I  had  got  in  the  way  of  think 
ing  that  I  was  "  bigger  than  anything  which 
could  happen  to  me."  I  should  like  to  think 
that  still,  yet  how  can  I,  when  I  was  down  and 
out  for  a  year  just  because  a  little  blind  mis 
chief-maker  aimed  a  misfit  arrow  in  my  direc 
tion?  Why,  there  was  the  longest  time  that  I 
actually  didn't  care  whether  my  hair  was 
curled  or  not!  You  can  judge  of  my  extrem 
ity,  for  since  the  time  when  I  used  to  braid  it  in 
little  tight  pig- tails  every  Saturday  night  in 
order  that  I  might  wear  it  crinkly  to  church  on 
Sunday,  I  have  tried  to  keep  my  hair  in  a  con 
dition  directly  opposed  to  its  natural  inclina 
tions  and  till  last  year  nothing,  except  wet 
weather,  had  ever  seriously  interfered. 

I  guess  I  am  "a  lone,  lorn  creetur,  and 
everythink  goes  contrairy  with  me."  I  have 
lost  my  appendix  and  mislaid  my  heart,  but  I 
am  going  to  try  to  worry  along  with  the  few 
organs  left  me. 

I  think  you  will  understand,  dear,  my  seem 
ing  to  treat  as  a  joke  what  was  to  me  the  bit- 
[103] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

terest  experience  of  my  whole  life.  I  can't 
indulge  in  heroics;  they  are  not  becoming  to 
my  style  of  plainness.  Still  I  like  to  think  the 
ordeal  has  left  me  stronger  than  of  old;  to 
think  that  the  courage  which  enabled  me  to 
rise  above  the  wreck  of  the  fondest  hopes  I  had 
ever  known  is  of  a  nobler,  better  kind  than  that 
with  which  I  had  almost  unconsciously  risen 
above  the  less  serious  trials  of  previous  years. 
An  intuitive  courage  can  scarcely  be  called  a 
virtue.  I  had  deliberately  to  set  about  to 
weave,  from  such  materials  as  the  loom  of  my 
past  life  afforded,  the  threads  of  courage  with 
which  to  bind  together  the  broken  strands  of 
the  present.  It  was  hard  at  first.  I  was  a 
poor  weaver,  and  the  threads  often  became 
tangled  and  broken,  leaving  me  to  begin  anew. 
But  that  much-abused  Scotch  obstinacy  of 
mine  came  to  the  rescue  and  helped  me  with 
many  a  knot  and  snarl. 

I  have  put  aside  my  patchwork  for  the  pres 
ent  and,  Micawber-like,  am  waiting  to  see  what 
will  turn  up  next.  Fate  has  used  me  for  a 
punching  bag  for  so  long  that  I  suppose  she 
will  keep  it  up  from  force  of  habit.  With  the 
exception  of  a  strong  prejudice  against  June- 
bugs,  I  have  never  been  greatly  troubled  with 
fear  of  things,  but  I  have  learned  to  be  fearful 
of  one  thing  at  least,  and  if  the  time  ever 
[104] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

comes  again  when  one  man  begins  to  be  more 
to  me  than  another,  I  shall  pack  my  trunks 
and  "  run  like  a  whitehead."  I  haven't  the 
remotest  idea  what  a  whitehead  is,  or  how  fast 
it  runs,  but  it  stands  for  the  maximum  of  speed 
in  Old  Town.  You  may  not  think  that  a  spe 
cial  recommendation,  but  I'll  warrant  the  pace 
will  be  swift  enough  for  the  occasion.  You 
don't  have  to  run  very  fast  or  very  far  nowa 
days  to  distance  most  men.  The  poor  dears 
have  come  to  think  that  they  are  the  pursued 
and  we  the  pursuers,  and  I  notice  a  good  many 
women  encourage  the  belief.  Well,  "  Barkis 
is  willin',"  I  am  sure,  if  they  enjoy  that  sort 
of  sport. 

Yours  repaired, 

JEAN. 

P.  S. — Never  learn  to  play  cribbage,  my 
dear,  or  at  least  don't  let  an  Englishman  teach 
you.  It's  a  stupid  game  at  best.  I  had  rather 
play  poker  in  Indian  Territory  and  lose  my 
last  blue  chip  trying  to  bluff  the  game  with  a 
bobtailed  flush! 


[105] 


OLD  TOWN,  N.  Y. 

JUNE  4,  19 — . 
DEAR: 

So  you  are  surprised  to  learn  that  I  am  in 
Old  Town  once  more.  So  am  I!  I  never  re 
alized  before  what  a  perfectly  charming  place 
it  is  to  stay  away  from.  I  have  been  here  two 
weeks,  and  have  shrunken  a  cubit  inch  all 
around  and  am  still  shrinking.  Judging  from 
its  general  appearance,  I  think  Old  Town  has 
been  undergoing  the  same  process  for  some 
time.  If  some  lively  breeze  were  to  happen 
along  and  pick  the  whole  town  up  bodily  and 
set  it  down  in  the  midst  of  the  Sahara  Desert, 
the  misguided  camel  who  had  taken  it  for  a 
mirage  could  walk  right  over  it  without  dis 
covering  his  mistake. 

There  is  an  air  of  unworldliness  about  the 
place  which  extends  even  to  the  millinery. 
Mother  brought  out  her  latest  venture  in  that 
line  of  wearing  apparel  and  asked  me  how  I 
liked  it.  I  told  her  it  looked  on  the  point  of 
testifying  in  meeting,  and  the  dear  woman  was 
[107] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

quite  shocked  and  put  the  hat  away  without  a 
word. 

I  found  all  the  family  skeletons  parading 
the  village  green  for  public  inspection,  as  of 
old.  They  may  think  that  with  familiarity 
they  become  less  gruesome,  and  give  beholders 
fewer  chills  than  if  they  kept  themselves  shut 
up  in  closets,  with  only  occasional  private  ex 
hibitions,  and  perhaps  they  are  right.  I  do  not 
feel  competent  to  argue  the  subject  with  them. 
Besides,  I  prefer  an  opponent  whose  good 
points  are  not  so  much  in  evidence. 

I  found  many  changes  in  the  "  gang  "  which 
made  the  town  lively  when  we  were  young — 
very  young,  indeed.  Most  of  its  members  are 
married,  with  families,  and  the  feminine  portion 
of  it  cannot  boast  one  waist  line  to  the  dozen. 

Jean  Brown  married  a  rich  Bostonian,  much 
to  Old  Town's  disgust.  In  Old  Town  phrase 
ology,  she  had  the  knack  of  putting  the  best 
foot  forward,  and  she  used  to  arrange  her 
mother's  scant  supply  of  silver  on  the  side 
board  in  such  a  way  that  the  number  of  pieces 
seemed  doubled.  Personally,  I  admire  a  woman 
ingenious  enough  to  get  the  advantage  of  a 
mirror — most  women  stand  too  much  in  awe  of 
one  to  venture  any  liberties — but  you  know 
what  Old  Town  thinks  of  such  hypocrisy.  If 
a  brother  has  a  patch  on  the  seat  of  his  trous- 
[108] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

ers,  it  is  counted  to  him  as  unrighteousness  if 
he  sits  down  to  hide  it.  No,  indeed,  let  there 
be  no  hypocrites  among  us!  Let  us  be  open 
and  frank  in  all  our  dealings!  Stand  up, 
brothers  and  sisters,  and  show  your  patches! 
(I  beg  the  sisters'  pardon,  most  humbly,  for 
my  unfortunate  figure  of  speech.) 

Bob  Warren  is  home  from  college  with  a 
tailor-made  suit  that  cost  forty-five  dollars, 
and  his  father,  who  is  so  close  that,  as  Mr.  Wel- 
ler  remarks,  he  would  have  made  an  uncommon 
fine  oyster  had  he  been  born  to  that  station 
in  life,  has  forsaken  pants  altogether  and  wears 
overalls  instead  as  an  offset  to  his  son's  ex 
travagance.  Mr.  Warren's  economy  takes 
queer  streaks  at  times.  Last  year  he  had  a  re 
markably  fine  crop  of  early  potatoes,  which  in 
due  time  came  to  be  covered  with  a  remarkably 
fine  crop  of  potato  bugs.  Willing  to  dispense 
with  the  surplus  crop,  Mr.  Warren  hired  sev 
eral  small  boys  to  hand-pick  the  bugs,  for  which 
they  were  to  be  recompensed  at  the  rate  of  one 
cent  per  hundred  bugs. 

As  a  result  of  the  first  day's  work,  the 
boys  brought  Mr.  Warren  a  bushel  basket 
well  filled  with  indignant  potato  bugs  and  de 
manded  payment,  so  many  cents  for  so  many 
hundred  bugs.  Mr.  Warren's  troubles  began 
at  once.  No  event  of  his  life  had  prepared  him 
L109J 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

for  the  emergency  of  calculating  the  number  of 
potato  bugs  to  the  bushel,  and  how  was  he  to 
know  if  these  boys  told  the  truth,  the  whole 
truth,  or  everything  but  the  truth?  He  could 
see  no  way  out  of  the  difficulty  except  to  re 
count  the  bugs  himself!  He  labored  faithfully 
for  an  hour  without  any  apparent  diminution 
in  the  contents  of  the  basket,  then  gave  it  up 
as  a  bad  job,  kicked  the  cat  whose  curiosity 
had  gotten  the  better  of  her  discretion,  paid  the 
boys  and  sent  them  home  with  orders  to  stay 
there,  and  the  unplucked  bugs  ate  the  remain 
der  of  the  plants  in  peace.  Verily,  some  peo 
ple's  vices  are  only  virtues  overgrown ! 

Dear  little  old  Aunt  Jane — dear  to  my  child 
hood  memories  chiefly  because  of  the  big  black 
berry  bush  behind  the  house,  whose  yearly  crop 
she  regularly  gave  to  me  to  devour — is  dead. 
I  met  Uncle  Ned  the  other  day,  and  in  answer 
to  my  words  of  sympathy  he  replied,  "  Yes, 
she  is  gone,"  and,  after  a  moment's  reflection, 
"  She  had  a  hard  row  to  hoe,  and  she  hoed  it 
well."  Dear,  you  and  I  will  indeed  be  fortunate 
if,  when  our  rows  are  hoed,  there  is  someone  left 
to  say,  as  lovingly  as  Uncle  Ned  did,  that  we 
hoed  them  well. 

I  paid  my  old  friend,  the  mill  dam,  a  visit  of 
course.  Do  you  remember  the  "  flat  rock  "  just 
below  the  dam  where  we  used  to  tuck  up  our 
[110] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

skirts  and  go  wading,  thereby  scandalizing 
some  of  our  good  neighbors?  They  blasted 
away  the  larger  part  of  it  a  few  years  ago  to 
use  in  laying  the  foundation  for  the  big  trestle 
for  the  new  railroad.  I  wonder  if  the  present 
generation  of  children  born  with  wading  pro 
pensities  know  of  how  much  pleasure  that  rail 
road  deprived  them. 

I  saw  a  vision  while  sitting  there  beside  the 
old  dam.  Shall  I  conjure  it  up  for  you?  I  saw 
two  barefoot,  tow-haired  urchins  climbing  the 
ladder  leading  to  the  loft  in  the  old  barn.  They 
seek  a  dark  corner  where  two  mother  cats  are 
nursing  their  respective  families,  and,  lifting 
the  kittens  into  their  laps,  proceed  to  examine 
them  with  anxious  care.  The  smaller  urchin, 
after  due  consideration,  selects  the  prettiest 
kitten  and  replaces  it  beside  its  mother.  The 
larger  tow-haired  lass  tenderly  reverses  each 
kitten  and  suspends  it  by  the  hind  legs  and 
listens  to  the  resulting  cries.  The  kitten  which 
objects  the  loudest  she  places  beside  the  anx 
ious  mother  cat.  She  has  ascertained  to  her 
satisfaction  which  kitten  has  the  "  most  spunk." 

The  urchins  then  proceed  to  decorate  the  re 
maining  kittens  with  strings,  at  the  other  end 
of  which  stones  are  securely  tied.  Gathering 
kittens  and  stones  carefully  in  their  aprons 
with  one  hand,  they  back  down  the  ladder  with 
[111] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

the  aid  of  the  other,  cross  the  orchard,  climb  the 
fence,  and,  passing  thru  the  back  lot,  come  out 
on  the  bank  of  the  river  just  above  the  dam. 
Here  each  urchin  takes  a  kitten  from  her  apron, 
kisses  it  tenderly  and,  with  tightly  closed  eyes, 
throws  it  in  the  water  just  where  it  flows  the 
swiftest  towards  the  dam.  When  they  open 
their  eyes  nothing  is  to  be  seen  of  the  poor  un 
fortunates,  so,  taking  courage,  once  more  they 
close  their  eyes  and  throw,  and  yet  again,  and 
the  aprons  are  emptied  of  their  sad  little  bur 
dens. 

I  wondered,  as  I  walked  home  thru  the  back 
lot,  if  I  could  have  suddenly  come  face  to  face 
with  the  smaller  tow-haired  urchin,  what  would 
have  happened.  Would  she,  happy,  little,  ig 
norant  country  maid,  have  recognized  in  me 
the  weary,  disheartened  woman  she  was  to  be 
come,  and  shrink  aside,  trembling  and  afraid? 
I  think  could  that  little  tow-haired  girl  have 
foreseen  the  demands  to  be  made  on  her  supply 
of  that  particular  quality  she,  too,  would  have 
chosen  the  kitten  with  the  '  most  spunk.' 

I  should  dislike  to  drown  a  kitten  now,  but 
we  were  so  thoroly  accustomed  to  the  ceremony 
as  children  that  we  didn't  much  mind.  Per 
haps  you  recollect  the  tendency  of  our  family 
towards  cats.  Each  member  owned  a  cat  and 
each  cat  owned  a  family.  A  sort  of  endless 
[112] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

chain  affair,  for  there  really  seemed  no  end  to 
the  supply  of  kittens.  Now  when  the  supply 
of  an  article  is  in  excess  of  the  demand,  there 
are  but  two  methods  of  maintaining  an  equal 
balance.  Either  increase  the  demand  or  reduce 
the  supply.  In  this  case,  the  former  was  usu 
ally  impossible;  the  latter  could  only  be  done 
after  the  supply  had  been  produced,  which  was 
manifestly  unfair  to  the  supply.  Poor  little 
cats!  The  unchangeable  law  of  the  household 
decreed  that  each  cat  might  rear  one  kitten, 
the  rest  must  be  disposed  of,  and  to  the  re 
spective  owners  of  the  mother  cats  fell  the  un 
pleasant  duty  of  reducing  their  families  to  the 
required  denominations.  Well,  it  isn't  every 
kitten  that  is  kissed  before  it  is  drowned,  and  I 
hope  the  ceremony  helped  some  in  the  last 
struggle. 

Do  you  remember  the  time  these  same  two 
urchins  got  even  with  the  clerk  for  killing  their 
favorite  mother  cat?  The  lady  of  the  house 
hold  had  considerable  difficulty  in  getting  a 
grown  cat  disposed  of,  should  the  necessity 
arise,  and  this  time  she  had  inveigled  dad's 
clerk,  who  boarded  with  us,  into  shooting  Old 
Bess  one  day  while  they  were  at  school.  In 
some  way  we  found  out  who  did  it,  and  we 
vowed  vengeance.  That  rash  clerk  had  taken 
Old  Bess  to  the  back  lot  to  perform  the  last 
[113] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

sad  rites,  and  had  thrown  her  into  a  clump  of 
bushes.  This  was  late  in  the  fall,  and  the 
snow  came  and  buried  poor  Old  Bess,  and  she 
lay  undiscovered  all  thru  the  long  Northern 
New  York  winter.  Spring  came,  and  had 
nearly  merged  into  summer,  when  one  day,  as 
the  urchins  were  on  their  way  to  the  river  with 
their  fishpoles  and  a  box  of  angleworms  for 
bait,  they  were  suddenly  arrested  by  a  most 
pungent  odor.  '  Following  their  noses,'  they 
soon  hunted  out  Old  Bess,  sadly  changed,  to 
be  sure,  but  still  recognizable. 

A  hurried  consultation  followed.  The  fish 
ing  trip  was  unceremoniously  abandoned  and 
the  urchins  sought  the  house  for  gloves  and  a 
stout  cord.  The  former  they  put  on  their 
sunburned  hands,  the  latter  they  gingerly  fast 
ened  about  Old  Bess'  neck,  and  as  gingerly 
carried  her  to  the  barn,  up  the  ladder  and  into 
the  loft. 

The  urchins  appeared  at  the  dinner  table 
with  unusually  guileless  faces,  but  had  disap 
peared  long  before  the  unsuspecting  clerk  had 
finished  his  dinner.  He  ate  leisurely,  then  went 
to  the  barn  to  feed  the  horses,  as  was  his  cus 
tom.  He  pumped  two  pails  of  water,  threw 
each  horse  a  forkful  of  hay  from  the  lower 
loft,  then  went  into  the  granary  for  the  oats. 

Now  the  granary  was  below  the  upper  loft, 
[114] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

the  door  leading  into  it  being  about  three  feet 
from  the  edge  of  the  loft.  He  had  filled  the 
measure  with  oats  and  was  coming  out  of  the 
door,  when,  like  a  thunderbolt  from  the  blue,  a 
very  much  decomposed  cat  suddenly  descended 
on  his  head  and  made  frantic  efforts  to  en 
circle  his  neck. 

"  Gosh  all  fish-hooks !  "  exclaimed  the  aston 
ished  clerk,  dropping  the  oats  and  brushing 
excitedly  at  the  dangling  object. 

The  motive  power  at  the  other  end  of  the 
cord  starting  up  at  this  point,  the  cat  made 
a  leisurely  disappearance  over  the  edge  of  the 
loft,  leaving  the  clerk  staring  as  tho  bereft  of 
his  senses.  A  poorly  suppressed  giggle  from 
the  loft  speedily  recalled  them,  and,  with  a 
"  Damn  those  kids,"  he  started  for  the  ladder. 
Damned  they  probably  would  have  been  then 
and  there,  could  he  have  reached  them,  but 
they  had  very  prudently  pulled  the  ladder  up 
after  them. 

Well,  the  horses  went  without  their  oats  that 
day,  and  Old  Bess  had  a  well  deserved  funeral, 
and  the  urchins  came  to  the  supper  table  with 
guileless  faces,  as  was  their  wont  when  any 
thing  particularly  interesting  was  going  on. 
I  cannot  vouch  for  the  statement,  but  I  really 
do  think  that  clerk  killed  no  more  cats  as 
long  as  he  remained  a  member  of  the  family. 
[115] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

Did  you  ever  observe  how  many  perfectly 
foolish  questions  a  perfectly  sane  woman  can 
ask?  Nothing  except  the  fact  that  you  are  an 
Old  Town  product  yourself  could  induce  you 
to  believe  me  were  I  to  tell  you  some  of  the 
questions  I  am  asked  regarding  the  United 
States  Indian  Service.  Here  are  a  few  sample 
copies : 

"  How  do  you  catch  them  ?  "  meaning  the 
Indian  pupils. 

"  Do  you  have  to  live  in  a  wigwam  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  have  to  eat?  "  (I  told  that 
woman,  "  Food,  mostly,"  and  she  doesn't  speak 
to  me  now.) 

"  Are  the  pupils  locked  up  when  not  study- 
ing?  » 

"  Do  Indians  carry  rattlesnakes  in  their 
pockets?  "  This  from  a  little  old  lady. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  think  not,"  I  assured  her. 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  they  do,  or  you'd  a 
heerd  'em  rattle.  Indian  don't  have  pockets, 
do  they?" 

I  told  her  that  an  Indian's  trousers  usually 
boasted  the  customary  allowance. 

"  That's  queer,"  she  said,  but  I  don't  know 
whether  she  referred  to  the  pockets,  as  pockets, 
or  to  their  being  attached  to  an  Indian,  or  to 
the  astonishing  facts  that  there  were  no  snakes 
in  them. 

[116] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

My  questioners,  one  and  all,  are  as  surprised 
as  was  the  little  old  lady,  to  learn  that  Indians 
possess  such  accoutrements  of  civilization  as 
pockets  and  razors.  (Pockets,  indeed!  An 
up-to-date  savage  can  jingle  seven  coppers 
with  as  a  fine  a  ten-dollar  air  as  any  Dick 
Swiveller  in  the  country.)  They  are  aston 
ished  to  learn  that  Indians  employ  a  dentist 
and  chew  gum.  They  had  no  idea  they  were 
as  civilized  as  that! 

Yours,  still  shrinking, 

JEAN. 


[117] 


CARLISLE  INDIAN  SCHOOL, 
CARLISLE,  PENN. 

JULY  15,  19—. 
DEAR: 

Kindly  observe  that  I  am  still  improving  my 
knowledge  of  local  geography.  A  highly  col 
ored  landscape  this  is,  too,  with  the  Allegany 
Mountains  and  the  good  old  Pennsylvania 
Dutch  in  the  background,  rendered  quite  dim 
and  blurry  by  the  yellow  stripes  of  some  few 
hundred  blue  uniforms  containing  a  corre 
sponding  number  of  incipient  braves,  which 
occupy  the  foreground.  Indians  again!  0! 
dear,  yes,  and  more  of  'em.  Shoot  and  curve 
about  this  broad  country  as  I  may,  I  never 
shoot  very  far  or  curve  very  wide  from  juvenile 
Los.  It's 

Indians,  Indians  everwhere, 
And  not  a  scalp  to  lose. 

It  was  a  lucky  shot  that  fired  me  here,  tho. 
Carlisle  doesn't  show  in  the  same  class  as  Crow 
River,  and  has  Wyanfort  distanced  in  the  first 
heat.  In  fact,  there  are  only  three  other 
Indian  schools  which  are  entered  for  the  same 
[119] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

stakes,   and  they  are  Chilocco,  Okla.,  Haskel 
Institute,  Kan.,  and  Sherman  Institute,  Cal. 

Even  such  an  ignoramus  as  you  are  regarding 
the  Indian  service — or  were,  rather,  till  I  took 
you  in  hand — must  have  heard  of  Carlisle,  tho 
your  knowledge  of  the  place  is  probably  as 
comprehensive  as  Mr.  Winkle's  was  of  skates. 
Carlisle  is  the  finishing-off  place  for  ambitious 
Indians  from  all  parts  of  the  United  States. 
She  has  every  modern  convenience  for  turning 
out  a  first  class  article  in  the  up-to-date  In 
dian  line,  warranted  perfectly  tame,  fast  col 
ors,  and  guaranteed  not  to  revert  to  original 
condition  if  carefully  handled.  Carlisle  pol 
ishes  dull  copper  surfaces  with  a  judicious  mix 
ture  of  education  and  athletics.  She  turns  un 
der  raw  edges  with  social  intercourse  and  hems 
them  down  with  right  habits.  She  corrects,  as 
far  as  possible,  the  inherited  tendency  towards 
idleness  by  administering  regular  doses  of  hard 
work,  week  in  and  week  out,  year  in  and  year 
out,  till  labor  becomes  a  regular  part  of  her 
students'  lives. 

The  youth  or  maiden  who  leaves  Carlisle 
with  their  diploma  carries  with  them  a  good 
practical  education  and  the  knowledge  of  some 
trade  by  which  they  may  gain  a  livelihood. 
Give  Carlisle  a  fair  chance  and  she  will  con 
vert  an  indolent,  ignorant  Indian  into  a  self- 
[120] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

supporting,  self-respecting  one.  If  Carlisle 
cannot  do  this,  then  no  other  school  or  system 
of  education  can,  and  the  best  thing  that  In 
dian  can  do  is  to  go  home,  roll  himself  up  in 
his  blanket  and  forget  it. 

They  tell  me  that  when  a  new  employee 
comes  to  Carlisle  she  pays  excess  postage  for 
two  weeks,  by  which  time  her  spare  cash  is 
exhausted  and  she  has  to  curtail  her  enthusi 
asm  till  payday.  I  am  inclined  to  think  it 
true,  but  you  could  explode  a  skyrocket  at  the 
wrong  end  with  about  as  much  success  as  you 
could  describe  Carlisle  by  letters.  In  my  first 
epistle  to  the  innocents  at  home,  I  attempted 
to  give  them  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  whole  in 
stitution.  I  began  with  the  beautifully  kept 
campus  and  ended  with  sherbet  for  supper, 
with  Indians,  tennis  courts,  the  old  guard 
house,  white  duck  suits,  old  maids  and  street 
cars  strewn  all  along  the  way.  I  might  as  well 
have  saved  my  time  and  mailed  them  a  Chinese 
puzzle,  for  mother  wrote  asking  what  on  earth 
the  old  maids  were  shut  up  in  the  guard-house 
for,  and  did  we  have  to  wear  our  white  duck 
suits  all  the  time  or  only  on  the  street  cars ! 
Encouraging,  wasn't  it? 

I  am  going  to  spare  you  such  an  ordeal  and 
leave  you  to  gather  your  ideas  of  Carlisle  from 
my  letters  generally,  without  distracting  you 
[121] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

with  statistics.  But  this  much  I  must  say, 
Carlisle  is  beautiful.  Big,  rambling,  old  brick 
buildings,  their  gray  surfaces  nearly  hidden  by 
a  luxuriant  growth  of  ivy ;  closely  cropped 
lawn,  stately  trees,  the  whole  scrupulously 
clean  and  garnished  with  a  generous  supply  of 
the  most  common  article  in  the  whole  Indian 
Service — old  maids.  If  I  were  asked  to  select 
a  motto  appropriate  for  the  feminine  portion 
of  the  Service,  I  should  choose :  "  All  hope 
abandon,  ye  who  enter  here." 

If  you  ever  happen  to  run  across  a  young 
girl  headed  for  a  husband  and  the  Indian 
Service,  just  whistle  her  off,  please.  She  may 
make  the  Service  all  right,  but  she  will  find  it 
a  corporation  in  which  the  husband  stock  is 
way  below  par,  yet  one  with  an  unusually  keen 
market  for  what  few  shares  there  are.  For 
unprotected  females  of  a  certain  age — or  un 
certain,  either,  for  that  matter — the  Service 
offers  excellent  advantages.  The  pay  is  good 
and  safe,  the  quarters  are  comfortable,  they 
are  well  protected  and  the  chances  to  squander 
money  are  few.  Rather,  it  is  a  remarkably 
good  place  to  save  money — I  do  not  speak 
from  experience,  mind  you.  Far  from  it,  altho 
Carlisle  may  not  boast  of  quite  as  many  ad 
vantages  in  that  line  as  Crow  River.  Last, 
and  certainly  not  least,  the  work  is  intensely 
[122] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

interesting  and  is  capable  of  absorbing  all  the 
surplus  energy  one  may  bring  to  it. 

I  am  not  teaching  now.  I  was  so  thoroly 
tired  of  the  occupation  that  I  vowed  I  would 
take  in  moppings  rather  than  go  back  to  it,  so 
I  took  another  Civil  Service  examination,  and 
am  here  as  matron  of  the  girls'  quarters.  I 
will  tell  you  about  my  manifold  duties  when  I 
know  more  of  them  myself.  At  present,  my 
head  is  buzzing  like  a  Fourth  o'  July  pinwheel, 
and  so  would  yours  were  I  to  wax  confidential 
about  my  work. 

I  had  company  on  my  way  here,  and  never 
in  my  life  was  I  so  much  the  '  observed  of  all 
observers  '  as  on  that  trip.  I  had  been  staying 
in  Syracuse  getting  acquainted  with  my  new 
nephew,  and  just  before  I  was  to  leave  to  come 
here  I  received  a  letter  from  Superintendent 
Dickoff,  stating  that  a  truant  Carlisle  pupil, 

Joseph  Gargon,  was  in  St.  Hospital, 

in  that  city,  and  requesting  me  to  bring  him 
with  me  in  case  he  was  able  to  travel.  Well, 
I  sought  out  the  hospital,  and  an  attendant 
sought  the  physician  in  charge,  and  he  sought 
the  nurse  of  the  charity  ward  and  the  nurse 
thought  Joe  would  be  able  to  travel  in  a  few 
days,  so  we  made  arrangements  about  the  time 
and  train.  Joe  I  didn't  see. 

Superintendent  Dickoff  had  written  to  keep 
[123] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

a  sharp  lookout  for  fear  Joe  might  try  to 
elude  me  on  the  way,  and  as  the  nurse  told  me 
he  was  a  lad  of  twenty  years,  I  naturally  won 
dered  how  I  could  best  assure  myself  of  his 
society  all  the  way.  Poor  Joe!  Any  fears  I 
might  have  had  about  mislaying  him  enroute 
vanished  the  moment  I  saw  him.  My  dear,  that 
boy  was  a  scarecrow!  I  don't  mean  his  state 
of  health  so  much,  tho  that  was  bad  enough. 
He  had  been  injured  in  the  side  by  falling  from 
a  hayloft  and  his  cough  and  emaciated  condi 
tion  proclaimed  him  a  sufferer  from  that  dread 
disease  to  which  so  many  of  his  race  fall  vic 
tims.  They  brought  him  to  the  depot  in  the 
ambulance,  and  two  attendants  had  to  assist 
him  aboard  the  train.  He  was  so  weak  that 
he  trembled  as  tho  entertaining  a  good,  old- 
fashioned  Indian  Territory  chill. 

But  his  clothes !  I  know  now  that  Carlisle 
sends  her  students  out  decently  and  respectably 
clothed.  (Joe  had  been  in  the  country  during 
vacation  and  had  run  away  from  his  country 
home.)  Wherever  Joe  got  the  rags  he  had  on 
I  cannot  say,  but  they  never  came  from  Car 
lisle.  And  the  dirt  on  them  showed  by  the  lay 
ers  that  it  had  accumulated  for  as  many  sea 
sons  as  they  had  been  worn.  He  had  on  a  pair 
of  old  trousers  with  a  three-cornered  tear  in 
them  sewed  up  with  white  thread — I'll  warrant 
[124] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

Joe  sewed  it  himself, — an  old  shirt  guiltless  of 
any  laundress  acquaintance,  sans  buttons,  and 
fastened  with  a  two-inch  safety  pin,  and  a  coat 
that  resembled  both  trousers  and  shirt,  inso 
much  that  it  was  torn  but  not  mended,  and  was, 
if  possible,  more  soiled.  A  black  felt  hat  that 
was  gray  when  it  started  on  its  career,  and  a 
pair  of  rusty  shoes,  one  of  which  was  laced 
with  a  white  string,  to  mate  the  patch,  com 
pleted  Joe's  attire,  and  was  to  all  appearance 
his  entire  stock  in  trade.  The  train  wasn't 
crowded,  and  I  managed  to  get  a  double  seat  so 
Joe  could  lie  down,  which  the  boy  was  glad  to 
do,  altho  the  cramped  position  hurt  his  side. 
Taking  the  "  tout  ensemble,"  Joe  made  a  fine 
traveling  advertisement  for  the  charity  ward  of 

St.  Hospital,  only  he  should  have  had 

his  nurse  along  as  manager. 

Even  if  the  boy  had  been  entirely  destitute 
there  was  no  excuse  for  sending  him  out  with 
that  amount  of  real  estate  on  his  person,  but  I 
found  out  afterwards  that  Joe  has  money  in 
the  bank  and  that  his  expenses  at  the  hospital 
were  paid  out  of  it.  Judging  from  appear 
ances,  his  laundry  bill  must  have  been  enor 
mous ! 

My  sister,  out  of  consideration  for  my  trav 
eling  companion,  had  prepared  a  generous 
lunch  and  I  know  by  the  way  the  boy  demol- 
[125] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

ished  it  that  he  had  not  had  enough  to  eat. 
He  made  up  for  lost  time,  and  it  didn't  seem 
to  cause  him  any  discomfort,  as  I  was  afraid 
it  would.  We  had  to  change  cars  twice,  with 
long  waits  at  both  places,  and  it  was  midnight 
before  we  arrived  at  Carlisle  town,  and  poor 
Joe  was  all  but  exhausted.  As  midnight 
seemed  rather  an  unpropitious  time  to  report 
for  duty,  I  took  Joe  to  a  hotel  for  the  night. 
He  had  to  be  helped  up  the  stairs,  he  was  so 
weak. 

I  was  respectably  tired,  too,  and  tho  I  had 
surprised  a  number  of  healthy-looking  cock 
roaches  in  my  room,  I  didn't  stay  awake  to 
speculate  on  their  chances  of  getting  on  the 
bed. 

Next  morning  we  had  a  bountiful  breakfast 
of  spoiled  strawberries,  stale  eggs,  melted  but 
ter,  cold  coffee,  a  colored  waiter  and  finger 
bowls.  I  confess  I  had  some  curiosity  to  see 
if  Joe  would  be  equal  to  the  latter  and  waited 
without  using  mine.  Indeed  he  was!  He  wet 
his  fingers  quite  daintily,  wiped  them  with  his 
napkin,  and  laid  it  down  without  folding  it. 

Joe  was  now  on  familiar  ground,  so  he  vol 
unteered  to  show  me  the  way  to  the  school. 
He  piloted  me  to  the  car,  and  on  arriving  at 
the  school  grounds  escorted  me  to  the  office, 
where  he  was  promptly  escorted  to  the  hos- 
[126] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

pital,  and  I  to  meet  Superintendent  Dickoff. 
Very  large,  very  grand,  very  pompous,  he  was, 
and  is,  and  I  couldn't  help  thinking  such  a 
quantity  of  dignity  must  be  a  hard  thing  to 
have  to  live  up  to. 

I  carried  Joe  some  oranges  next  day.  I 
found  him  in  a  spotless  room,  in  a  spotless  bed, 
and  himself  so  much  in  the  same  condition  that 
even  his  smile  looked  clean.  His  pretty  uni 
formed  Indian  girl  nurse  told  me  that  his  is 
a  hopeless  case  of  tuberculosis,  and  he  is  to  be 
sent  to  his  home  in  Wisconsin  as  soon  as  he  is 
able  to  travel.  Poor  Joe!  He  was  so  glad 
to  get  back  to  Carlisle,  and  seemed  quite  happy 
and  free  from  pain. 

There  are  several  boys  and  girls  here  from 
the  Wyanfort  school,  whom  I  know.  Carlisle's 
pupils  are  gathered  from  every  tribe  in  the 
United  States,  and  from  nearly  every  condition 
in  life.  The  student  body  is  as  complicated  a 
mixture  as  boarding  house  hash  on  Monday, 
and  offers  nearly  as  good  opportunities  for 
curious  discoveries. 

There  are  the  youthful  Hopi  prisoners  of 
war,  captured  red-handed  on  the  warpath,  and 
sent  here  by  a  lenient  government  to  learn  the 
arts  of  peace;  and  there  is  a  beautiful  golden- 
haired  Chippewa  girl  who  has  come  here  to 
perfect  herself  in  the  art  of  drawing.  Speak- 
[127] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

ing  of  arts  reminds  me  I  had  better  learn  the 
art  of  writing  shorter  letters.  I  really  do 
think  that  is  the  one  thing  Carlisle  cannot 
teach,  unless  perhaps  it  is  toleration  for  the 
narrow  views  some  of  our  numerous  visitors 
exhibit.  I  was  standing  on  the  porch  of  the 
girls'  quarters  the  other  day  when  a  fat,  red- 
faced  woman,  with  a  sort  of  give-way-to-me 
air,  came  sailing  up  the  walk  on  a  voyage  of 
discovery.  There  were  Indian  lasses  on  the 
veranda  fully  as  civilized  looking  as  she,  but 
to  her  they  were  just  so  many  savages.  She 
stopped  and  inquired  the  way  to  the  office,  and 
I  directed  her  as  desired.  Then,  looking  over 
the  beautiful,  quiet  scene  before  her,  she  turned 
and  asked,  in  an  awestruck  tone,  "  Ain't  you 
really  afraid  of  losing  your  scalp?  " 

"  Yes,  madam,  I  am,"  I  replied,  "  so  much  so 
that  I  take  it  to  bed  with  me  every  night  for 
fear  of  mislaying  it." 

You  should  have  seen  her  get  up  canvas  and 
sail  away.  Carlisle  could  teach  that  woman  a 
whole  lot — perhaps. 

Distractedly  yours, 

JEAN. 


[128] 


CARLISLE  INDIAN  SCHOOL, 
CARLISLE,  PENN. 

SEPT.  81,  19—. 
DEAR: 

Well!  They  have  this  particular  wheel  of 
the  Indian  educational  machine  gauged  to  re 
volve  about  five  million  times  a  second,  and  if 
you  think  any  of  the  human  cogs  of  that  wheel 
can  attend  to  anything  but  its  breath  while 
flying  thru  space  at  that  rate  of  speed,  all  I 
can  say  is  that  your  thoughts  do  credit  to  your 
imagination.  I  have  been  in  busy  places  be 
fore,  and  have  managed  to  keep  moderately 
industrious  myself,  but  I  have  never  seen  a  spot 
that  could  hold  a  pink  sperm  candle  to  Car 
lisle  when  it  comes  to  hustling.  She  has  Dan 
Patch  and  The  Witch  of  Endor  beat  to  a 
frazzle!  (That  sounds  a  bit  like  slang,  but  it 
can't  possibly  be,  for  I  never  use  any.) 

The  wheel  slips  a  cog  occasionally  and  gives 
it  a  few  hours  off  duty,  and  when  that  cog 
happens  to  be  a  one-time  schoolma'am  from 
New  York,  she  hies  to  her  room  and  proceeds 
to  settle  old  scores  with  her  correspondents. 
[129] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

She  has  been  thinking  to-day  of  what  a  zig 
zag  road  her  path  thru  life  has  been,  and  how 
many  the  intersections  in  it  as  it  has  crossed 
the  paths  of  others.  Occasionally  the  junction 
is  marked  by  a  milestone  to  which  I  look  back 
as  a  pleasant  reminder  of  that  part  of  the 
journey;  sometimes  the  converging  point  is 
disfigured  by  an  unsightly  upheaval  of  earth, 
as  tho  memory  had  cast  up  her  breastworks  to 
screen  from  view  some  ghastly  reminder  of  a 
past  struggle.  But  more  often  the  paths 
diverge  again,  leaving  no  sign  or  token  of  the 
meeting. 

As  I  look  back  over  my  life  the  past  few 
years  and  note  how  far  apart  the  milestones 
are,  I  cannot  help  wondering  why  it  is  we  make 
so  few  real  friends  along  the  way,  why,  among 
the  many  fellow  travelers  who  journey  with  us, 
we  so  seldom  meet  with  one  whom  we  care  to 
call  friend.  It  seems  to  me  that  however  much 
companionship  and  mutual  pleasures  may 
make  smooth  the  way,  we  travel  the  road  apart 
after  all,  owing  much  to  friendly  wayfarers 
for  help  and  sympathy,  but  meeting  with  many 
a  pitfall  where  no  strength  but  our  own  can 
avail,  and  left  at  the  end  to  make  the  final 
stage  of  the  journey  weary  and  alone. 

I  think  in  the  future,  when  I  look  back  to 
this  part  of  my  life's  experiences,  it  will  re- 
[130] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

semble  more  than  anything  else  a  finely  woven 
spider's  web,  so  many  are  the  paths  which  have 
made  a  common  meeting  place  here  at  Carlisle. 
In  the  past  two  months  I  have  added  five  hun 
dred  people  to  my  list  of  acquaintances.  I 
don't  do  that  every  two  months  I  can  assure 
you.  We  have  nearly  three  hundred  girls  in 
quarters,  and  I  think  I  must  know  about  one 
hundred  of  the  boys,  and  the  employees  will 
swell  the  list  to  five  hundred.  Such  a  time  as 
we  matrons — there  are  three  of  us,  and  all 
new! — had  in  getting  the  girls'  names  learned. 
You  see,  I  came  to  Carlisle  during  vacation, 
and  there  were  only  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  girls  here  then.  It  took  me  three  weeks 
to  get  to  know  them  all  and  I  had  just  begun 
to  feel  sure  that  when  I  called  a  girl's  name, 
the  girl  I  wanted  would  appear,  when  one  day 
in  came  one  hundred  and  fifty  strange  girls. 
They  had  been  in  the  country  for  the  summer, 
and  such  hugging  and  kissing  and  screaming 
you  never  heard  or  saw.  And  questions! 
"  What's  the  number  of  our  room?  "  "  When 
will  our  trunks  come?  I  want  my  blue  silk 
jumper  to  wear  to  sociable!" 

"  Can  we  wear  our  uniforms  to  the  dining- 
room?  I'll  have  to  wear  a  sheet.  My  clothes 
are  all  packed." 

[13U 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

"  Elizabeth,  did  you  have  a  beau  this  sum 
mer?  " 

"  Is  Peter  Twosticks  in   from  the  country 

yet?" 

"  O !  dear,  are  the  matrons  all  new  ?  " 
We  were  new,  indeed,  and  if  we  had  had  any 
minds  to  lose  we  should  have  lost  them  during 
the  week  which  followed.     Every  girl's  trunk 
had  to  be  unpacked,  and  each  article  of  her 
government    clothing    accounted    for.       Most 
people  think  it  is  a  task  to  unpack  one  trunk. 
How  would  you  like  the  job  of  unpacking  one 
hundred    and    fifty    of    them,    and    count    the 
articles   of  clothing  in   each?     Well,  well,  we 
lived  thru  it,  and  things  are  running  smooth 
as  tar  now.     I  have  the  right  names  tagged 
onto  the  right  girls  and  am  feeling  quite  well 
acquainted.     About  fifty  of  the  girls  have  fair 
or  brown  hair,  and  they  were  easy  to  learn, 
but  the  black-eyed,  black-haired  ones  all  looked 
alike  to  me  for  some  time.     There  are  some 
very   nice   girls,   especially   in   the   senior   and 
junior  classes.     Since  industrial  and  academic 
training  go  hand  in  hand  at  Carlisle,  most  of 
her  graduates  are  young  men  and  women  be 
fore  they  complete  their  course.     The  members 
of    this    senior    class    range    from    twenty    to 
twenty-five  years   of   age,   and  their  training 
[132] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

has  made  them  independent,  sensible  and  de 
pendable  young  people. 

There  are  several  new  employees,  two  of 
them  young  girls,  teachers,  just  from  college. 
They,  with  another  young  employee  and  my 
self,  constitute  the  "  Big  Four,"  as  we  modest 
ly  style  ourselves,  so  hereafter  when  I  mention 
the  Big  Four  of  The  Indian  Special,  please 
don't  confuse  us  with  any  other  road. 

One  of  the  girls  is  a  tow-head,  like  myself, 
and  when  I  tell  you  that  she  hails  from  Penn 
sylvania  and  answers  to  the  name  of  Schlosser, 
you  wont  need  to  be  told  her  pedigree.  She 
is  only  twenty-one  and  she  came  here  with 
very  peculiar  ideas  regarding  Indians,  and  it 
is  due  her  to  say  that  no  girl  ever  shed  one 
set  of  ideas  and  grew  another  in  less  time  than 
she  did. 

She  is  a  pretty,  slender  little  thing,  as  a 
number  of  boys  in  large  boys'  quarters  speed 
ily  found  out,  and  that  girl  is  having  the  time 
of  her  life.  There  is  a  social  dance  every  Sat 
urday  night,  for  students  and  employees,  and 
the  Big  Four  doesn't  sit  out  many  numbers,  I 
can  tell  you.  The  socials  are  held  in  the  gym 
nasium,  with  our  own  band  to  furnish  the  mu 
sic,  and  altho  there  are  usually  a  thousand 
people  present,  the  gym  is  fully  equal  to  the 
occasion.  Most  of  the  students  dance,  and 
[133] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

dance  well,  altho  you  will  find  the  Hopis,  Chey- 
ennes  and  a  few  Sioux  sitting  disconsolately  in 
corners.  You  see,  our  pleasures  are  compul 
sory  as  well  as  our  duties,  and  the  pupils  have 
to  attend  the  sociables,  as  they  call  them, 
whether  they  want  to  or  not.  To  do  them  jus 
tice,  not  many  of  them  would  prefer  to  keep 
away,  and  the  severest  punishment  we  can  in 
flict  on  our  girls  is  to  deprive  them  of  their 
social  privileges. 

And  I  said,  "  Can  any  good  thing  come  out 
of  Crow  River? "  Carlisle  saith,  come  and 
see.  Pray  let  me  present  Mr.  James  Ashley 
Eagleson,  of  Crow  River.  He  is  a  very  nice 
looking  young  brave,  indeed,  with  just  enough 
French  blood  to  make  his  hair  curl.  He  is  a 
senior  and  one  of  Carlisle's  swells.  He  is  cap 
tain  of  Troop  B,  a  member  of  Carlisle's  famous 
band,  a  football  and  baseball  player,  and  a 
devoted  admirer  of  Miss  Schlosser's,  a  list  of 
accomplishments  which  does  not  leave  much  to 
be  desired.  Jimmy — I  call  him  Jimmy  for 
Crow  River's  sake — but  Miss  Schlosser  ad 
dresses  him  as  Mr.  Eagleson — speaks  his  own 
language  of  course,  and  Miss  Schlosser  has 
been  taking  a  few  private  lessons  in  Dakota, 
with  rather  unexpected  results.  Jimmy  isn't 
the  only  "  handsome  Sioux  " — the  Big  Four's 
pet  name  for  him — in  school  by  any  means. 
[134] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

There  is  a  big,  handsome  junior,  half  Sioux, 
half  Scotch — a  Mr.  McKenzie — who  is  a  mem 
ber  of  Carlisle's  eleven — and  he  happens  into 
Miss  Schlosser's  schoolroom  occasionally,  just 
to  give  Jimmy  something  to  think  about. 

It  occurred  to  the  object  of  their  attentions 
that  it  would  be  a  bright  thing  to  learn  to  say 
"  Good  morning "  in  Dakota,  and  accost 
Jimmy  in  his  own  language  the  next  time  he 
came  into  her  schoolroom  before  school  opened. 
She  asked  Mr.  McKenzie  what  the  Sioux  equiv 
alent  for  "  good  morning  "  was,  and  he  said 
without  hesitation  that  it  was  "  Cantesquya." 
(If  you  can't  pronounce  it,  just  give  four  bass 
grunts  and  accent  the  third  one.) 

Well,  next  morning,  as  Miss  Schlosser  was 
putting  some  work  on  the  blackboard  her  door 
opened,  and  in  walked  Jimmy. 

"  Canteskuya,"  Miss  Schlosser  called  to  him 
with  her  sweetest  smile.  To  her  consternation, 
Jimmy  stared  at  her  in  amazement,  then  got 
as  red  in  the  face  as  conditions  would  permit, 
and  collapsed  into  the  nearest  seat  and  laughed 
till  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 

Miss  Schlosser  tried  in  vain  to  find  out  what 
she  had  said  to  affect  him  so  peculiarly,  and  he 
went  out  as  the  schoolbell  rang,  still  laughing. 

Mr.  McKenzie  very  innocently  wandered  in 
the  next  day  and  Miss  Schlosser  pounced  on 
[135] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

him  at  once  and  demanded  to  know  what 
"  Canteskuya  "  meant.  "Why,"  he  drawled, 
"  I  thought  you  knew.  It  means  sweetheart." 
No  wonder  Jimmy  collapsed!  It  got  out,  of 
course,  and  Jimmy  has  a  new  pet  name  now. 

My  knowledge  of  Dakota  grows  slowly.  I 
know  two  words,  kukasha,  pig,  and  canteskuya, 
sweetheart.  Not  a  particularly  good  combina 
tion  of  words.  I  don't  believe  I  shall  ever  have 
occasion  to  use  them  both  in  the  same  sentence. 
I  can  say  "  thank  you,"  in  Wyanfort,  but  I 
don't  attempt  it  often.  I  said  it  once  before 
an  old  lady  and  she  told  me  I  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  myself.  It  does  sound  profane, 
but  I  don't  see  why  I  should  be  blamed  for  that. 

I  suppose  you  are  familiar  with  Herbert 
Spencer's  definition  of  a  good  education.  The 
position  of  matron  at  Carlisle  offers  excellent 
qualifying  advantages  for  its  realization.  A 
matron  is  supposed  to  be  a  combination  of  gen 
eral  utility  man,  private  bureau  of  information 
and  a  walking  model  of  morals  and  deportment. 
Something  on  the  order  of  one  of  those  patent 
mechanical  devices  which  can  be  used  for  any 
thing  from  a  darning  needle  to  a  sausage 
grinder.  I  gave  a  public  demonstration  of  my 
ability  in  the  general  utility  line  by  making 
"  squaw  cuts  "  on  some  small  Nez  Perce  pupils 
who  arrived  recently. 

[136] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

There  are  about  twenty-five  small  girls  who 
wear  their  hair  a  la  mode.  The  newcomers 
had  pigtails,  and  it  devolved  on  yours  truly  to 
transform  said  pigtails  into  "  Dutch  cuts." 
The  finished  product  seemed  rather  a  libel  on 
that  style  of  coiffure,  and  squaw  cuts  seemed 
less  incongruous,  so  I  relabeled  them.  Those 
squaw  cuts  were  fearfully  and  wonderfully 
made,  and  I  defy  any  barber  in  the  state  of 
Pennsylvania  to  produce  their  duplicate. 

One  little  girl  of  six  years  had  a  diseased 
scalp  and  the  nurse,  after  the  usual  medical 
examination  of  new  pupils,  had  given  orders 
to  cut  her  hair  short.  The  poor  child  was 
badly  frightened — small  wonder — and  screamed 
so  that  I  could  hardly  cut  three  hairs  at  a 
time,  or  any  two  the  same  length.  When  she 
felt  her  shorn  head  she  kicked  and  yelled  till  I 
was  afraid  she  would  injure  herself.  I  finally 
thought  to  promise  her  a  car  ride  if  she  would 
stop  crying,  and  to  go  then  and  there  to  see 
the  quartermaster  and  beg  some  apples.  She 
dried  up  amazingly  fast,  considering  the  quan 
tity  of  moisture  she  was  shedding,  and  we 
walked  down  to  interview  the  quartermaster. 

Mr.  Kendall  is  an  elderly  man  with  one  of 
the  kindest  hearts  in  the  world,  which  he  very 
carefully  conceals  under  a  fierce  exterior.  I 
[137] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

told  him  Lucy's  tale  of  woe  and  begged  some 
apples  as  a  balm  for  her  wounded  feelings. 

"  Now  that's  too  bad,  little  girl,"  he  said, 
bending  down  his  bald  head  to  her  level.  "  But 
you  got  off  better  than  I  did,  for  the  other 
matron  took  all  my  hair  off." 

This  drew  a  smile  from  Lucy,  which  grew 
broader  when  Mr.  Kendall  filled  her  blue 
checked  apron  with  apples.  I  took  her  for  the 
car  ride  that  afternoon  and  it  rained  the  pro 
verbial  cats  and  dogs  and,  the  car  being  open, 
of  course  we  got  soaked,  and  my  white  parasol 
was  as  clean  as  tho  I  had  laundered  it  pur 
posely.  The  wetter  Lucy  got,  the  better  she 
liked  it,  and  when  I  gave  her  some  giddy-look 
ing  sticks  of  candy,  her  troubles  were  com 
pletely  forgotten.  I  was  glad  of  that,  for 
some  time  she  will  have  troubles  which  cannot 
be  so  easily  drowned. 

I  had  a  letter  recently  from  a  girl  with 
whom  I  correspond  for  the  sake  of  the  disci 
pline  her  letters  afford  me.  She  wrote  that  she 
had  but  then  returned  from  her  vacation,  and 
that  she  was  suffering  a  very  great  deal  from 
nostalgia ! 

Now  wouldn't  that  erupt  you?  I  know  the 
girl  stumbled  across  that  word  during  vaca 
tion,  and  she  wasted  three  sheets  of  the  best 
linen  stationery  just  to  ring  it  in  on  me.  She 
[138] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

didn't  owe  me  a  letter,  either.  Now  you  under 
stand  why  writing  to  her  is  disciplinary.  It's 
just  a  case  of  long-distance  courage,  for  had 
she  been  talking  with  me  she  never  would  have 
dared  to  say  such  a  thing.  That  girl  will 
damage  her  reputation  if  she  doesn't  exercise 
better  judgment  in  her  selection  of  ailments. 
Yours  "  nostalgicly," 

JEAN. 


1139] 


CARLISLE  INDIAN  SCHOOL, 
CARLISLE,  PENN. 

OCT.  18,  19—. 
DEAR: 

O!  dear,  does  one  ever  recover  from  their 
bringing  up,  I  wonder?  I  had  such  a  severe 
attack  of  it  that  I  sometimes  think  I  shall 
never  quite  get  over  it.  Here  I  haven't  been 
doing  a  thing  but  darn  stockings  on  Sunday 
morning,  when  all  the  girls  were  at  chapel  and 
quarters  were  so  quiet  and  peaceful  that  it  did 
almost  seem  a  shame  to  darn  anything,  and  yet 
when  a  tap  came  at  my  door  I  hustled  hose  and 
darning  bag  out  of  sight  before  answering  it. 
No,  indeed,  it  wasn't  a  case  of  guilty  con 
science  at  all!  It  was  simply  too  much  bring 
ing  up.  I  don't  mean  to  imply  that  Sunday  is 
the  only  time  to  mend  holes,  but  when  your 
laundry  doesn't  come  home  till  late  on  Friday, 
and  when  you  are  so  busy  Saturdays  that  you 
don't  know  which  is  head  and  which  heels,  and 
when  you  have  to  go  to  sociable  on  Saturday 
night  and  dance  every  number,  what  are  you  to 
do  but  darn  on  Sunday,  unless,  indeed,  you 
[141] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

m* 

wear  hose  with  holes  in  them!  My  creed  won't 
allow  that  for  the  first  article  in  it,  is  "  Let  thy 
raiment  be  whole  and  keep  the  strings  and  ends 
thereof  in  the  inside." 

So  I  can  see  no  other  way  out  of  it  but  to 
transfer  the  responsibility  to  my  bringing  up. 

Speaking  of  hose  reminds  me  of  Lucy  of  the 
shorn  head.  She  came  up  to  me  yesterday  and 
said  she  wanted  to  whisper  something  in  my 
ear.  I  took  her  on  my  lap  and  asked  her  what 
it  was. 

"  You  have  got  a  hole  in  your  stocking," 
she  said,  in  a  stage  whisper. 

"  Honey,"  I  exclaimed,  shaking  her,  "  I 
haven't  either.  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  put  it  on,  then?  "  she  asked, 
solemn  as  only  a  baby  Indian  can  be,  and  then 
she  jumped  to  the  floor  and  danced  up  and  down 
and  cried  "  Stung !  Stung !  "  How  is  that  for 
a  six-year-old  fullblood,  fresh  from  the  wilds 
of  an  Idaho  reservation?  Lucy  knows  nearly 
every  large  girl  in  quarters,  and,  what  is  more, 
she  knows  the  name  of  each  girl's  favorite 
friend  in  large  boys'  quarters  and  calls  it  out 
to  them  at  every  opportunity.  There  is  noth 
ing  the  matter  with  the  inside  of  Lucy's  head 
piece,  if  the  outside  is  shorn. 

We  live  and  move  and  have  our  meals  in  a 
football  atmosphere  at  present,  Carlisle's 
[142] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

eleven  are  covering  themselves  with  glory  and 
black  and  blue  spots,  and  Carlisle's  employees 
are  yelling  themselves  hoarse  during  the  per 
formance. 

A  special  train  carried  some  three  hundred 
pupils  and  employees  out  to  Philadelphia  last 
week  to  see  Carlisle  take  the  University  of 
Pennsylvania's  scalp.  Scalp,  indeed!  Pennsyl 
vania  lost  not  only  her  scalp,  but  her  head  and 
most  of  her  reputation.  There  were  only  a  few 
harmless  shreds  left  of  her  eleven  after  our 
braves  had  finished  using  them  to  soak  up  the 
dust  of  Franklin  Field,  for  all  the  world  like 
so  many  overgrown  wads  of  absorbent  cotton. 

The  Carlisle  rooters  had  a  reserved  section 
to  themselves,  and  a  vivid  patch  of  color  they 
made  of  it.  Both  boys  and  girls  were  in  uni 
form  and  all  carried,  besides  the  Carlisle  colors, 
a  big,  red  government  blanket  and  a  red  and 
gold  megaphone.  Of  course  it  was  a  Philadel 
phia  crowd  and  nearly  everybody  wore  the 
university's  red  and  blue,  tho  occasionally  a 
red  and  gold  pennant  showed  a  Carlisle  sympa 
thizer.  Miss  Schlosser  and  I  had  agreed  to 
cheer  together,  and  we  did,  till  we  nearly 
cheered  ourselves  asunder.  You  see,  the  game 
was  such  a  walkover  that  it  kept  us  busy  every 
minute.  Every  time  our  boys  made  the  for 
ward  pass  or  scored  a  touchdown,  we  stood  on 
[143] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

the  seat  and  cheered  and  waved  and  hurrahed, 
as  did  everybody.  My  pennant  wasn't  se 
curely  fastened  to  its  staff,  and  when  I  got 
enthusiastic,  which  was  pretty  often,  off  it 
would  fly  and  off  would  come  some  gentleman's 
hat  in  the  seats  below  us.  I  don't  know  how 
many  times  that  banner  was  returned  to  me, 
only  to  make  the  same  trip  over  again. 

Pensy  never  had  a  show  for  her  money  from 
the  time  the  pot  was  opened  till  hands  were 
called.  Her  pair  of  openers  didn't  stand  much 
show  that  day  against  Carlisle's  full  house,  and 
a  clean  sweep  of  twenty-six  to  six  didn't  leave 
much  to  be  desired  from  our  side  of  the  game. 
She  tried  the  forward  pass  once  and  the  ball 
went  in  the  air  some  three  feet  over  the  head  of 
our  gritty  little  quarterback.  He  leaped  into 
the  air  as  tho  his  feet  had  wings  rather  than 
spikes,  and  grabbed  that  ball,  made  a  half 
circuit  and  landed  squarely  on  the  back  of  his 
neck.  The  thousands  of  spectators  held  their 
breath  as  one  man  till  he  had  picked  himself 
up,  unhurt  and  with  the  ball,  and  then  such  a 
yell  went  up  as  even  Franklin  Field  doesn't 
often  hear.  I  don't  know  what  kind  of  material 
they  used  to  make  that  quarterback's  cervical 
vertebrae,  but  it  certainly  was  nothing  brittle. 

Miss  Schlosser  was  a  few  degrees  higher  in 
her  enthusiasm  than  I,  and  I  thought  for  a 
[144] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

time  that  I  should  have  to  put  weights  on  her 
to  keep  her  down.  It  happened  that  one  of  the 
teachers,  of  a  certain  age,  was  occupying  a  seat 
near  us.  She  has  an  unusual  amount  of  dig 
nity  strewn  about  her  at  all  times,  and  she  had 
brought  every  ounce  of  it  along  to  the  football 
game.  She  sat  there,  clothed  in  majesty,  as 
with  a  garment,  and  I  tell  you  candidly  that  a 
red  flannel  bathrobe  would  have  been  fully  as 
well  suited  to  her  surroundings.  Think  you 
she  stood  on  the  seat  and  cheered  and  waved 
when  our  quarterback  performed  his  aerial 
gymnastics?  Not  she!  She  sat  upright,  toes 
out,  and  sedately  waved  her  Carlisle  pennant 
back  and  forth,  like  a  Sunday  school  superin 
tendent  with  a  Band  of  Hope  banner.  Once,  in 
answer  to  some  enthusiastic  remark  of  mine, 
she  replied,  "  Yes,  isn't  it  glorious  ?  "  and  never 
was  any  word  so  misused  and  tortured,  and 
stripped  of  every  vestige  of  accent  and  inflec 
tion  as  was  that  word  "  glorious."  Webster 
himself  would  not  have  recognized  it,  in  its 
garb  of  severe  dignity,  with  about  as  much  of 
glory  in  its  aspect  as  a  green  cucumber  could 
boast  of. 

Now  I  trust  I  know  how  to  behave  myself, 

as  a  general  thing,  and  I  can  display  as  much 

dignity  as  necessary  at  a  funeral  or  wedding, 

or  other  befitting  occasion,  but  when  it  comes 

[145] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

to  a  football  game  or  a  horse  race  I  prefer  to 
go  appropriately  clad,  mentally  and  physical 
ly,  and  when  our  side  rolls  up  the  score  till  it 
stands  twenty-six  to  six,  if  I  cannot  properly 
express  my  appreciation,  why,  I  will  stop  at 
home  and  crochet  doilies,  figleaf  design,  for  the 
benighted  heathen. 

I  am  secretly  worried  about  Miss  Schlosser 
and  Jimmy.  They  are  getting  to  be  very  good 
friends,  O !  very  good  friends,  indeed,  and  I  am 
stewing  internally  for  fear  trouble  may  come 
of  it.  Miss  Schlosser  is  just  the  age  when 
romance  and  love  of  the  unusual  appeal  most 
strongly  to  the  imagination,  and  I  fear  at 
times  that  the  novelty  of  having  a  Sioux  lover 
will  interfere  with  her  perspective.  Jimmy  is 
a  nice  boy,  and  seems  to  have  as  good  ideas  of 
the  essentials  of  life  as  any  lad  I  know,  white 
or  Indian,  but  heredity  is  a  strong  force  to 
reckon  with  blindfolded,  and  Jimmy  has  only 
one  generation  between  himself  and  savagery. 
He  is  a  typical  product  of  our  Indian  educa 
tional  system,  and  the  evolution  of  the  dark- 
skinned  boy  who  some  twenty  years  ago  occu 
pied  a  seat  in  the  kindergarten  at  Crow  River, 
with  no  word  of  English  at  his  command  and 
with  all  his  strong  natural  tendencies  calling 
him  tepeeward,  into  the  alert,  self-possessed 
and  competent  young  American  that  Jimmy  is 
[146] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

to-day,  speaks  volumes  for  the  efficiency  of  that 
system  of  Indian  education  for  the  support  of 
which  Congress  annually  votes  an  appropria 
tion  of  some  six  millions  of  dollars. 

Jimmy  writes  and  speaks  his  own  language, 
but  aside  from  his  brown  skin  and  high  cheek 
bones,  that  is  about  the  only  apparent  indica 
tion  of  his  ancestry.  He  dresses  as  well — Jim 
my  has  a  fair  income  from  his  allotment — ap 
pears  as  well,  and  moves  with  fully  as  much  con 
fidence  as  nine  out  of  every  ten  young  men  you 
meet.  He  has  been  away  from  the  reservation 
for  so  long  that  no  sign  of  its  uncouthness  is 
visible,  yet  supposing  he  were  to  go  back  to  it, 
would  the  outward  semblance  of  his  adopted 
civilization  slough  off,  and  his  native  habits  and 
tendencies  reassert  themselves?  I  do  not  for  a 
minute  think  that  Jimmy  would  ever  retrograde 
to  any  alarming  extent.  His  education  and 
carefully  instilled  habits  would  prevent  that,  I 
am  sure;  but  I  do  think  the  reservation  would 
speedily  eradicate  the  nicer  distinctions  and 
tricks  of  refinement  which  the  East  has  taught 
him,  as  it  would  of  anyone  whose  sense  of  deli 
cacy  was  an  acquired  rather  than  a  natural 
one. 

Miss  Schlosser  is  much  too  young  to  realize 
how  very  greatly  an  ordinary  woman's  com 
fort  and  peace  of  mind  depends  on  the  continu- 
[147] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

ance  of  just  such  seemingly  minor  distinctions. 
I  do  not  care  particularly  to  own  up  to  it,  but 
I  do  think  that  the  majority  of  women  prefer 
a  man  with  a  fine  appearance,  regardless  of 
anything  else,  to  one  of  your  good  sort  of 
creatures  who  eats  with  his  knife. 

Miss  Schlosser  has  crowned  Jimmy  with  a 
home-made  halo  of  the  tints  of  her  own  pris 
matic  imagination,  which  is  extremely  foolish 
of  her  and  shows  how  hard  she  is  hit,  for  no 
woman  in  the  possession  of  her  senses  would 
attempt  to  make  such  a  radical  change  in  the 
style  of  an  Indian's  headgear.  It  is  a  long 
cry  from  a  war-bonnet  to  a  halo,  and  Miss 
Schlosser  will  find  that  she  must  be  content  to 
let  Jimmy  have  a  derby  for  everyday  wear. 

Miss  Schlosser  makes  no  secret  of  her  inter 
est  in  Mr.  James  Ashley  Eagleson,  and  she  has 
her  mother  nearly  on  the  verge  of  distraction. 
She  has  written  her  daughter  to  expect  her  at 
Carlisle  on  a  visit  soon,  and  Jimmy  told  me  that 
he  had  shaken  in  his  shoes  till  the  patent 
leather  was  peeling  off.  To  do  Miss  Schlosser 
justice,  she  is  glad  to  have  her  mother  come, 
and  will  present  Jimmy  to  her  with  all  par 
donable  pride.  She  is  perfectly  frank  about 
the  matter  and  takes  the  Big  Four's  chaff  in 
good  part. 

Well,  I  expect  I  had  better  peddle  my  own 
[148] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

papers  and  let  my  friends  do  the  same,  but  I 
can't  help  croaking  to  you  a  bit.  I  did  at  first 
tell  Miss  Schlosser  what  a  perfectly  horrid  hole 
Crow  River  is,  but  I  only  succeeded  in  making 
her  curious  about  the  place,  dust  and  all.  I  do 
hope  she  satisfies  her  inquisitiveness  second 
hand,  but  I  am  none  too  sanguine  about  results 
when  a  woman's  curiosity  is  involved.  Miss 
Schlosser  is  a  dear,  little,  pig-headed  Dutchy, 
and  I  told  her  so. 

Yesterday,  being  Wednesday,  we  had  potato 
chips  for  lunch.  Our  meals  at  the  club  are 
served  on  the  rotation  plan,  and  if  you  are  of 
an  observing  nature,  you  soon  learn  just  what 
to  expect  each  day  in  the  commissary  depart 
ment.  A  new  assistant  in  one  of  the  industrial 
divisions  reported  for  duty  last  month,  and 
notwithstanding  the  fact  that  all  positions  at 
Carlisle  are  filled,  hit  or  miss,  from  the  Civil 
Service  registers,  it  is  seldom  that  that  particu 
lar  type  of  male  shows  up.  He  wears  a  blue 
checked  gingham  shirt,  and  either  he  has  only 
the  one,  or  has  two  from  the  same  material,  for 
to  all  appearances  he  has  not  changed  it  since 
he  came.  He  dresses  for  meals  by  putting  on  a 
swallow- tailed  coat  that  was  out  of  style  when 
Noah  pitched  the  ark,  and  he  exudes  an  odor  of 
stale  tobacco  that  leads  us  to  preserve  a  re 
spectful  distance. 

[149] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

He  informed  us  the  day  he  came  that  he  had 
been  married  just  three  week  before  on  the 
strength  of  his  new  job,  and  that  his  wife  had 
waited  for  him  for  ten  years.  We  thought  his 
wife  must  be  a  woman  of  some  discrimination, 
but  we  should  have  entertained  a  still  higher 
opinion  of  her  good  judgment  had  she  waited 
ten  years  longer. 

Well,  as  I  said,  we  had  potato  chips  for 
lunch,  and  I  think  Mr.  Tennyson — "  What's  in 
a  name?  " — encountered  them  for  the  first  time. 
He  took  a  generous  supply  on  his  plate  and 
attacked  them  with  his  usual  weapon  of  gastro 
nomic  warfare,  his  knife.  He  would  slip  it 
under  the  pile  of  chips  and  carefully  raise  it, 
and  every  time  it  came  up  empty.  He  tried 
and  tried,  and  not  a  solitary  chip  would  accept 
his  proffered  means  of  conveyance.  Finally  a 
bright  idea  occurred  to  him,  and  he  took  his 
knife  in  his  left  hand  and  carefully  placed  a 
row  of  chips  on  the  blade,  half  way  to  the 
handle.  Then,  slowly,  carefully,  he  started  it 
on  its  way,  and  I  think  I  never  saw  a  face  ex 
press  as  much  concentrated  attention  as  his 
did.  The  load  had  nearly  reached  the  yawn 
ing  aperture  when  Nemesis,  in  the  disguise  of 
the  waitress,  gently  j  ogged  his  elbow  in  placing 
his  coffee,  and — O !  dear,  I  suppose  I  disgraced 
myself,  for  I  laughed  outright,  but  those  chips 
[150] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

flew  in  every  direction  but  the  one  in  which  they 
should  have  flown,  and  the  poor  man  was  left 
staring  at  his  empty  knife  in  such  a  discour 
aged  way. 

He  gave  it  up  after  that,  and  pushed  the 
chips  to  one  side  and  left  them  there.  If  there 
is  any  truth  in  the  old  saw  that  "  A  workman 
is  known  by  his  chips,"  I  venture  the  remark 
that  Mr.  Tennyson  has  mistaken  his  calling. 
He  certainly  will  have  to  display  more  adapt 
ability  to  unusual  circumstances  before  I  can 
recommend  him  as  a  matron. 

The  last  supper  bell  has  rung  and  I  can  hear 
the  tread  of  our  nine  hundred  students  as  they 
march  to  the  dining-room,  like  so  many  ani 
mated  stomachs,  to  be  filled.  It  has  been  six 
hours  since  lunch! 

Yours  appetizingly, 

JEAN. 


[151] 


CARLISLE  INDIAN  SCHOOL, 
CARLISLE,  PENN. 

DEC.  8,  19—. 

DEAR: 

Last  Saturday  I  came  upstairs  by  the  second 
stairway,  instead  of  the  first,  as  I  usually  do, 
and  I  found  Lucy  of  the  shorn  head  leaning 
against  the  railing  crying  as  tho  all  the  saw 
dust  in  all  the  dolls  in  the  Children's  Kingdom 
had  leaked  away. 

"  Lucy,"  I  exclaimed,  "  what  is  the  matter? 
Tell  me  what  has  gone  wrong." 

Louder  sobs,  and  more  of  them.  I  took  her 
hands  from  her  face  and  saw  that  there  was  a 
red  mark  clear  across  her  forehead. 

"  Lucy,  dear,  did  you  fall  and  hurt  your 
self?  " 

"  Nuh." 

"  Did  someone  hit  you,  then  ?  " 

"  Nuh." 

"  Lucy,"  I  said,  a  light  suddenly  illuminat 
ing  my  darkness,  "  did  you  try  to  curl  your 
hair  on  the  steam  pipe,  and  burn  your  face  ?  " 

"  Eva  Little  Elk,  she  got  curls.     She  got  a 
[153] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

big  long  one  all  down  her  back  from  the  steam 
pipe.  I  want  curls,  too,  and  my  hair  is  all 
short,  so."  Poor  little  girl.  Vanity's  hurts 
are  long  healing. 

"  Lucy,"  I  said,  "  will  you  promise  me  never 
to  use  the  steam  pipes  for  a  curling  iron  again, 
if  I  curl  your  hair,  all  over,  for  the  sociable 
to-night?  You  see,  little  girls  should  have 
more  sense  than  to  spoil  their  hair  curling  it. 
It  is  only  big,  grown  up  folks  that  do  that. 
When  you  are  a  big  girl  you  can  wear  long 
skirts  and  curl  your  hair,  and  be  a  lady,  poor 
child,  but  now  you  have  a  good  time  and  leave 
your  hair  alone." 

Sure  enough,  after  dinner,  as  I  was  dressing 
for  the  evening's  amusement,  there  came  a  tap 
at  my  door  and  in  came  Lucy,  gay  in  her  new 
blue  and  white  uniform,  to  have  her  hair  curled. 
I  had  to  keep  my  promise,  foolish  as  it  was, 
and  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  child  a  half 
hour  later.  Her  hair  is  as  coarse  and  stiff  as 
nails,  and  the  most  it  could  manage  in  the  way 
of  curls  were  sundry  kinks  and  knots,  standing 
straight  out  in  all  directions,  like  a  porcupine 
with  twisted  quills. 

Lucy  was  delighted,  and  ran  downstairs  to 
make  her  little  friends  envious  by  strutting  up 
and  down  the  halls,  patting  and  smoothing  her 
[154] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

projecting  locks.  A  very  feminine  little  Lucy, 
but  I  paid  dearly  for  her  triumph. 

Superintendent  Dickoff  attended  the  soci 
able  and,  as  usual,  was  on  the  lookout  for 
flaws,  exhibited  either  in  dress  or  manner.  He 
spied  Lucy's  hair — it  was  rather  striking — as 
he  was  standing  near  a  group  containing  the 
Big  Four,  and  called  her  up  to  him. 

"  Child,"  he  exclaimed,  "  what  in  the  world 
have  you  been  doing  to  your  hair?  " 

"  You  like  it?  "  asked  Lucy,  proudly. 

"  No,  I  don't  like  it.  It  looks  very  bad.  Tell 
me  how  you  did  it." 

"  The  matron,  she  curl  it  for  me — that  one," 
pointing  to  me.  There  was  no  help  for  me;  I 
was  in  for  it. 

The  Superintendent  turned  to  me  with  a 
frown.  "  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you 
purposely  made  that  child  the  fright  she  is  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  I  cannot  tell  a  lie,  sir,"  I  said,  feeling  ex 
ceedingly  like  telling  a  whopper.  "  I  did  it 
with  my  little  curling  iron." 

"  May  I  ask  why  ?  "  An  iceberg  seemed  to 
have  suddenly  hove  to  in  Superintendent  Dick- 
off's  vicinity.  I  explained  my  reasons  as  best 
I  could,  considering  my  half  frozen  condition. 

"  You  did  wrong,  madam,  very  wrong  in 
deed.  It  would  have  been  far  better  to  have 
[155] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

let  the  child  cry  over  a  half  fancied  sorrow, 
than  to  teach  her  such  a  lesson  in  pride  and 
vanity  as  you  did  when  you  humored  her  silly 
whim.  Please  remember  that  your  influence 
over  these  children  is  very  great,  and  be  more 
careful  in  the  future." 

I  wanted  to  remind  Superintendent  Dickoff 
that  the  lessons  of  pride  and  vanity  do  not 
have  to  be  taught,  but  I  thought  I  had  en 
joyed  a  monopoly  of  his  society  long  enough, 
so  I  retired,  to  watch  him  take  his  square,  pad 
ded,  uniformed  shoulders  into  the  lancers  just 
forming.  If  consistency  is  a  jewel  in  woman, 
I  wonder  what  it  is  in  a  man.  A  Kimberly  dia 
mond  mine,  I  guess,  by  its  rarity ! 

The  Big  Four  came  up  to  offer  condolences, 
but  I  assured  them  I  didn't  need  any  sympathy. 
Had  Superintendent  Dickoff  said  I  had  done  a 
stupid  thing  in  curling  Lucy's  hair,  I  should 
have  felt  hurt.  To  be  accused  of  wrong  doing 
is  not  half  so  disquieting  as  to  be  called  stupid, 
and  I  really  felt  thankful  for  his  oversight. 
I  am  always  grateful  for  any  experience  which 
serves  to  call  my  stupidity  to  mind,  but  I  never 
have  any  particular  liking  for  the  person  who 
tells  me  of  it. 

I  have  often  thought  that  it  would  add  a 
lot  to  a  hen's  interest  in  life  could  there  be 
[156] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

one  in  every  flock  with  enough  intelligence  to 
tell  the  rest  what  stupid  things  they  were. 

After  I  have  had  the  proof  of  my  density 
forcibly  brought  home  to  me,  I  get  out  my 
mental  gymnastic  apparatus  and  try  to  polish 
it  up  a  bit.  It  is  surprising  how  rapidly  it 
gets  rusty  and  stiff  in  the  joints  from  want  of 
use.  An  intellectual  jog-trot  is  about  all  that's 
required  for  the  routine  of  everyday  duties, 
and  when  an  emergency  calls,  and  you  try  to 
come  a  mental  broad  jump,  it's  discouraging  to 
find  you've  only  turned  a  handspring  and  land 
ed  with  your  feet  where  your  head  ought  to  be. 

It  has  happened,  just  as  I  felt  it  would! 
Yesterday,  I  went  to  Miss  Schlosser's  room  to 
return  a  magazine.  I  knocked  at  her  door, 
and  after  a  minute,  opened  it  and  walked  in, 
as  I  have  the  habit  of  doing.  Not  seeing  any 
one,  I  advanced  into  the  center  of  the  room  to 
lay  the  magazine  on  the  table,  when  from  a 
corner  a  sound  of  weeping  fell  on  my  startled 
ears,  and  I  heard  a  voice  remarkably  like  James 
Ashley's  say,  soothingly,  "  There,  sweetheart, 
don't  cry.  I  am  a  bloomin'  Injun,  I  know,  but 
you  will  never  be  sorry  that  you  gave  yourself 
to  me.  Please,  dear,  don't  cry  any  more." 

I  shall  always  know  exactly  how  a  thief  feels 
taken  with  the  goods  on.  I  tried  to  back  out, 
unobserved,  as  I  had  entered,  and  stumbled  over 
[157] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

the  rocker  of  a  chair  and  fell  backwards,  knock 
ing  over  an  ottoman  piled  up  with  books,  and 
striking  my  elbow  on  the  floor  with  a  thump 
that  sent  the  shivers  shooting  clear  to  my  fin 
gernails. 

"  Please  don't  stop  crying  on  my  account," 
I  said,  as  Miss  Schlosser  came  quickly  out  of 
her  retreat  on  Jimmy's  shoulder.  "  You  were 
inconsiderate  enough  to  cry  so  loud  that  you 
couldn't  hear  me  come  in.  You  might  have  re 
gard  enough  for  my  feelings  to  keep  it  up  till 
I  can  get  out  again." 

"  I  don't  care  a  picayune  who  sees  us,"  ex 
claimed  Miss  Schlosser,  as  she  and  Jimmy  came 
forward  to  help  me  up  from  my  lowly  seat 
among  the  scattered  books.  "  You  would  have 
been  the  first  to  have  known  it,  anyway." 

"  Known  of  what  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Don't  be  an  idiot,"  rejoined  my  friend. 
"  You  aren't  one  usually,  you  know." 

"  Thank  you.  I  just  thought  perhaps  you 
might  like  congenial  company." 

"  Now,  see  here,"  put  in  James  Ashley,  sud 
denly  straightening  himself  from  the  books  he 
had  been  carefully  rearranging,  "  I  know  I 
don't  begin  to  be  good  enough  for  her,  not  by 
a  long  shot!  (James  A.  is  very  original!) 
No  man  is;  but  if  you  think  she  is  foolish  to 
love  me  because  I  am  an  Indian  you  are  missing 
[158] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

the  mark  by  about  seventeen  inches.  I  don't 
intend  to  make  a  flat-footed  squaw  of  her,  and 
she'll  wear  high  heels  to  the  end  of  the  schedule, 
if  I  have  to  sell  my  allotment  to  buy  'em  for 
her." 

"  That's  just  it,  Jimmy,"  I  said,  seriously. 
"  You  can't  sell  your  allotment ;  the  Indian 
Office  wont  let  you.  You  can't  keep  Miss 
Schlosser  in  the  high-heeled  sphere  in  which 
you  found  her;  race  environment  wont  let  you. 
You  are  hampered  at  every  turn  by  an  inherit 
ance  you  cannot  escape.  You  couldn't  make  a 
squaw  of  your  wife  (Jimmy  started  at  the 
word)  any  more  than  she  could  make  a  white 
man  out  of  you.  You  both  have  behind  you 
generations  of  a  life  so  vastly  different  in  scope 
and  purpose,  whose  influences  you  are  blindly 
following,  as  we  all  follow  more  or  less  directly, 
the  paths  in  which  our  ancestors  have  directed 
us — that  it  is  utterly  beyond  your  power  to 
create  an  enduring  medium  of  mental  equality. 
One  generation  of  education  wont  do  it.  Love 
wont  do  it,  tho  you  think  now  it  will.  The  flower 
of  love  bears  the  earthly  fruit  of  disappoint 
ment  and  unfulfilled  longings,  just  as  surely 
as  squash  vines  bring  forth  squashes  in  due 
season,  and  if  your  chosen  comradeship  is  to 
endure,  there  must  be  something  besides  the 
remembrance  of  life's  sweetest  illusion  to  sus- 
[159] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

tain  it.  There  must  be,  at  least,  the  common 
interests  of  mutual  endeavor,  and  an  abiding 
sympathy  for  the  hurt  each  has  inflicted  on  the 
other.  Why,  you  two  couldn't  even  sympa 
thize  with  each  other !  Your  points  of  view  are 
too  different.  Sympathy  implies  comprehen 
sion,  and  Jimmy  could  never  quite  understand 
why  your  French  heels  left  such  wobbly  looking 
prints  in  the  Crow  River  sand.  You  may  think 
it  better  to  '  hitch  your  wagon  to  a  star,'  and 
come  a  glorious  cropper,  than  to  be  trundled 
about  in  a  wheelbarrow,  but  I  am  not  so  sure! 
It  might  be,  if  a  matrimonial  cropper  was  the 
end,  instead  of  only  the  beginning  of  the  end, 
and  I  imagine  after  you  had  picked  yourselves 
up  and  dug  the  dirt  out  of  your  eyes,  a  wheel 
barrow  might  look  pretty  good  to  you." 

"  Is  my  education  of  no  account?  "  broke  in 
Jimmy,  in  his  impetuous,  boyish  way.  "  I 
don't  want  to  seem  a  conceited  ass,  but  I  am 
every  bit  as  deserving  of  a  good  girl's  love  as 
any  white  fellow  at  Carlisle.  I  can  take  just 
as  good  care  of  her,  give  her  just  as  comfort 
able  a  home,  and  I  can  love  her  a  heap  harder 
than  any  tan-haired  swell  ever  could.  They 
might  better  have  left  me  on  the  reservation, 
ignorant  and  contented,  if  they  have  educated 
me  only  to  create  desires  they  are  unwilling  to 
satisfy." 

[160] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

"  Whoever  you  mean  by  '  they,' "  I  said, 
smiling,  for  there  was  more  truth  in  his  last 
sentence  than  I  cared  to  own  up  to,  "  whoever 
you  mean  by  they,  they  could  hardly  be  ex 
pected  to  know  that  you,  a  native  American, 
would  ever  come  to  trace  the  source  of  your 
happiness  to  a  Dutch  channel." 

"  Dutch  channel  nothing !  "  exclaimed  Jim 
my,  catching  Miss  Schlosser  in  his  arms  and 
hugging  her  brazenly.  "  She  is  the  whole  Hol 
land  Canal  to  me,  I  tell  you." 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  call  me  fluid  pet 
names,"  gasped  the  hugged  one,  freeing  her 
self.  "  I  am  getting  my  crying  all  done  up 
now,  so  as  to  have  it  over  with.  Dear,"  she 
said,  coming  over  and  taking  my  hands,  "  you 
have  not  told  me  anything  I  didn't  know.  (Of 
course  not,  Miss  One  and  Twenty.)  I  am 
sorry  to  grieve  my  parents,  but  they  wont  care 
when  they  find  out  what  a  perfect  dear  Jimmy 
is.  (I  hope  they  take  their  daughter  along  as 
pilot  on  that  voyage  of  discovery.)  As  for  our 
not  being  able  to  sympathize  with  each  other, 
why,  I  nearly  worry  my  head  off  every  game 
Jimmy  plays,  for  fear  he  will  be  slugged! 
Mother  would  like  for  me  to  marry  a  Dutch 
farmer  and  live  near  her  and  raise  garden 


"  And  you,  like  a  dutiful  daughter,  prefer 
[161] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

to  marry  an  Indian  and  raise  a  disturbance. 
That  is  all  right.  Everyone  has  a  right  to 
make  a  botch  of  their  lives  if  they  choose.  I 
like  you  well  enough  to  risk  displeasing  you  by 
saying  that  I  think  you  are  both  making  a 
mistake.  Putting  aside  your  general  unfitness 
for  each  other,  it  seldom  pays  to  go  against 
general  public  opinion.  You  will  find  it  too 
strong  a  tide  for  your  little  birch  bark  canoe 
to  make  headway  against,  government  branded 
tho  it  is." 

"  You  make  a  mountain  out  of  a  lump  of 
Crow  River  gumbo,"  said  Miss  Schlosser,  im 
patiently.  "  Other  girls  in  the  service  have 
married  Indians  and  have  been  happy  enough." 

"  If  to  be  happy  enough  is  your  highest  am 
bition,  I  have  nothing  more  to  say.  Lovers 
from  time  immemorial  have  thought  it  a  brave 
act  to  fly  in  the  face  of  everything,  only  to  dis 
cover  afterward  that  their  strongest  motive 
was  an  obstinate  fondness  for  having  their  own 
way.  Now,  my  children,  I  am  not  going  to 
say  another  word  against  this,  ever  again.  I 
am  one  of  the  friends  on  whom  you  can  depend, 
and  any  time  you  want  to  use  my  sitting-room, 
I  shall  be  delighted  to  have  you,  for  I  am  al 
most  never  there." 

"  You're  a  dear,"  said  Miss  Schlosser, 
squeezing  my  hand,  "  if  you  did  talk  as  tho 
[162] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

Jimmy  wore  a  blanket  and  feathers.     I  don't 
believe  you  meant  half  you  said." 

"  O !  Jimmy  knows  I  was  only  moralizing  for 
practice  and  the  good  of  society.  If  I  am  to 
begin  this  early  in  life  to  act  the  part  of  a 
cross-grained  fairy  god-mother  to  foolish  lov 
ers,  I  might  as  well  make  the  most  of  my  first 
opportunity.  There's  the  assembly  call  for 
dinner,  and  my  hair  looks  as  tho  I  had  fallen 
over  a  haystack  instead  of  a  chair." 

"  Well,  mine,  too !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Schlos- 
ser,  with  considerable  truth,  raising  trembling 
hands  to  her  disheveled  head. 

"  You  must  learn  that  a  girl's  hair  requires 
considerate  treatment  these  days,  Jimmy,"  I 
called  after  the  retreating  lover,  as  he  turned 
at  the  door  for  a  last  look  at  his  divinity. 

Mr.  James  Ashley  Eagles  on  grinned  cheer 
fully  and  departed,  with  his  chin  in  the  air, 
and  we  could  hear  him  whistling  the  chorus  of 
"Love  Me  And  The  World  Is  Mine,"  as  he 
turned  the  corner. 

"  He  is  such  a  kid,"  said  my  friend,  deep  in 
the  intricacies  of  her  pompadour.  "  I  expect 
he  will  go  about  grinning  like  a  Cheshire  cat." 

"  His  smile  is  the  most  vivid  recollection  I 
have    of    him    just    at    present,"    I    replied. 
"  Watch  out  to-night  when  he  calls,  and  see  if 
his  grin  materializes  first." 
[163] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

"  I  don't  suppose  it's  a  joking  matter,"  said 
my  suddenly  serious  friend.  "  There  will  be 
war  in  the  camp  at  home,  but  Jimmy  is  a  dear, 
and  I  love  him,  and  I  have  given  him  my  prom 
ise,  and — you'll  see,"  she  ended  suddenly. 

And  I  expect  to!  I  came  to  my  room  after 
dinner,  and  have  been  holding  communion  with 
my  neglected  soul.  There  has  always  been 
more  doing  than  praying  in  my  scheme  of 
things,  and  it  has  been  some  time  since  San- 
dalphon  wore  a  nosegay  at  my  expense,  but  if 
I  thought  any  good  would  come  of  it,  I  would 
go  down  on  my  knees  and  offer  up  as  many 
original  Hail  Mary's  as  I  am  capable  of  dic 
tating.  But  what  good  would  it  do?  Miss 
Schlosser  doubtless  does  some  praying  on  her 
own  account — she  is  a  fairly  good  Lutheran — 
and  of  course  the  result  will  be  that  she  can 
read  her  title  clear  to  a  tepee  in  Dakota. 

So  be  it!  It  is  none  of  my  business,  as  I 
wish  I  had  discovered  before  I  wasted  my  elo 
quence  on  the  foolish  pair.  (O!  I  was  most 
eloquent,  I  do  assure  you.  I  said  a  lot  that  I 
haven't  bothered  to  write  you,  and  I  probably 
would  be  there  talking  yet  if  I  had  not  hap 
pened  to  notice  that  Jimmy  had  cut  a  narrow 
strip  of  paper  from  that  unlucky  magazine  and 
was  surreptitiously  measuring  Miss  Schlosser's 
[164] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

finger  with  it.  Jimmy  is  a  dear,  if  I  do  say  it, 
that  shouldn't.) 

I  do  not  deny  Miss  Schlosser's  inherent  right 
to  please  herself  in  the  man  she  marries.  I 
have  too  high  an  opinion  of  personal  freedom 
to  refuse  anyone  the  privilege  of  spoiling  their 
lives  in  the  way  which  best  pleases  them.  I 
would  marry  a  Hottentot  if  I  wished,  provid 
ing,  of  course,  the  gentleman  was  willing,  but 
to  make  a  fool  of  one's  self  is  one  thing;  to 
stand  quietly  by  and  watch  a  friend  do  like 
wise  is  another,  and  one  which  is  usually  too 
severe  a  test  of  one's  powers  of  suppression. 
A  foolish  act  always  looks  so  much  more  foolish 
when  committed  by  anyone  besides  yourself. 

Perhaps,  after  all,  as  Miss  Schlosser  said,  I 
am  making  a  mountain  out  of  a  lump  of  Crow 
River  dust.  But  did  you  ever  know  a  woman 
who,  having  made  a  mess  of  her  own  love  af 
fairs,  wouldn't  try  to  convince  others  that  they 
are  messing  theirs  also?  Disappoint  a  woman 
in  love,  and  she  usually  comes  to  consider  her 
self  a  divinely  appointed  iconoclast,  with  a 
heaven-sent  mission  of  pulling  down  the  idols 
love  sets  up  in  every  human  heart.  And  I 
think,  in  the  main,  our  object  is  an  unselfish 
one,  mistaken  tho  it  is.  We  who  have  seen  that 
love  spells  pain,  and  who  know  that  for  every 
moment  of  happiness,  love,  the  heaviest  task- 
[165] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

master  the  world  knows,  will  demand  an  hour 
of  sorrow — we  would  spare  others  the  payment 
of  the  debt,  deeming  the  cost  too  great. 

And  yet  I  think  it  is  a  mistaken  kindness,  for 
pain  and  sorrow  are  the  only  forces  strong 
enough  to  lift  some  of  us  out  of  our  little,  nar 
row  ruts  of  thought  and  living,  and  set  us  with 
our  faces  toward  the  uplands  of  usefulness  and 
willing  service,  reached  only  by  the  rugged 
path  of  sacrifice,  where  we  must  learn  to  be 
content  if  there  remains  any  contentment  for 
us  in  this  world. 

Robert  Ingersoll  has  said,  "  The  dead  carry 
in  their  clenched  hands  only  that  which  they 
have  given  away."  I  think  it  true  that  the 
most  valued  coin  in  the  soul's  mint  is  the  one 
oftenest  required  of  us  as  our  deposit  in  that 
universal  reserve,  so  that  when  life  strips  us, 
one  by  one,  of  youth,  happiness,  health  and 
courage,  we  still  may  own  some  few  shares  in 
that  Company  of  Faith,  the  value  of  which  is 
alone  determined  by  the  worth  of  the  coin  we 
gave. 

O !  well,  if  Miss  Schlosser's  cake  turns  to  In 
dian  meal  mush  I'll  have  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  she  can't  say  she  used  my  recipe. 

I  have  an  idea — but  I  guess  I  had  better 
keep  it.  I  don't  seem  to  have  much  of  a  variety 
on  hand  just  now.  This  love  business  has 
[166] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

turned  my  thoughts  topsy-turvy,  and  I  am 
fast  developing  into  a  monoideaist — if  I  may 
be  allowed  the  word.  A  man  with  one  idea  is 
bad  enough,  but  a  woman  so  bereft  is  insuffer 
able. 

With  prayers  for  your  leniency,  I  am  still 
yours,  JEAN. 


[167] 


CARLISLE  INDIAN  SCHOOL, 
CARLISLE,  PENN. 

FEB.  2,  19—. 
DEAR: 

You  remark  with  customary  frankness  that 
you  never  before  knew  me  to  keep  an  idea, 
and  that  you  were  apprehensive  of  dire  results. 
Well,  it  has  made  me  uncomfortable  and  I  am 
going  to  pass  it  on  to  you  in  hopes  it  will  pro 
duce  a  like  effect.  The  idea,  reduced  to  lowest 
terms  of  expression,  was  that  I  needed  a  dose 
of  moral  castor  oil.  My  ethical  alimentary 
canal  has  got  clogged  with  a  lot  of  predigested, 
properly  inspected,  government  labeled  moral 
health  foods,  put  up  by  the  Universal  Reputa 
tion  Co.,  and  distributed  gratis  by  the  Society 
of  What  Everybody  Thinks.  It  is  a  diet  espe 
cially  recommended  for  infants  and  imbeciles. 
It  prevents  brain  fatigue,  cures  mental  activ 
ity  in  its  worst  stages  and  is  a  specific  antidote 
for  original  thought. 

Many  employees  of  the  Indian  Service  be 
long  to  this  same  Distributing  Society  and  I 
find  myself  rapidly  qualifying  for  membership. 
[169] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

They  are  afraid  of  what  people  will  say ;  afraid 
of  losing  their  jobs;  afraid  of  being  spontane 
ous,  and  here  am  I  proven  guilty  in  two  charges 
by  my  unpardonable  interference  in  Miss 
Schlosser's  love  affair. 

I  have  been  cultivating  the  rare  accomplish 
ment  of  being  frank  with  myself  and  I  know 
that  the  advice  which  I  so  freely  heaped  on  my 
long-suffering  friend  was  composed  of  ten  per 
cent  of  the  gold  of  unselfishness  and  ninety 
per  cent  of  the  alloy  of  what  will  people  think. 

Well,  I've  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  is 
none  of  our  business  what  people  think.  The 
Ten  Commandments  were  given  us  to  keep  be 
cause  it  was  right  that  we  should  keep  them,  not 
because  people  would  talk  if  we  didn't.  Nowhere 
does  it  say  "  Thou  shall  not  marry  an  Indian," 
and  if  Miss  Schlosser  chooses  to  do  so  she  may, 
and  it  is  no  concern  of  hers  what  people  think. 
I  suppose  it  is  necessary  that  people  must  think 
when  something  unusual  occurs,  but  after 
events  seldom  show  that  their  thoughts  did 
them  much  credit. 

There  are  few  people  with  faculties  so  well 
balanced  that  a  conventional  deviation  wont 
send  their  judgment  teetering  skyward. 

We  are  all  fools,  learning  in  the  dear  school 
of  experience,  and  I  suppose  the  biggest  fools 
get  the  hardest  knocks.  It  required  several 
[170] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

good  raps  to  teach  me  to  keep  step  with  fate, 
and  even  now  there  are  times  when  I  forget  to 
mark  time.  Now,  when  Miss  Schlosser's  pros 
pects  for  some  hard  knocks  seem  excellent,  I 
thought  that  by  exposing  my  own  bruised 
cranium  I  could  preserve  hers  intact.  That's 
when  my  judgment  took  a  holiday!  Miss 
Schlosser  has  an  inalienable  right  to  hard 
knocks  and  measles  and  immortality  and  sev 
eral  other  unpleasant  foreordained  things.  The 
predestined  events  of  earthly  existence  can  all 
be  endured,  and  I  do  not  believe  that  the  mas 
ters  in  life's  school  ever  give  us  "  a  lick  amiss." 
It  is  the  cowards  who  cry  out  that  their  bur 
dens  are  too  heavy  for  them.  If  they  would 
rid  themselves  of  some  of  the  self-imposed  bur 
dens  they  would  find  those  which  life  lays  on 
them  easier  to  carry.  We  load  ourselves  with 
needless  worry  and  selfish  sorrows  and  com 
plainings  and  start  our  little  rusty  engines 
screeching  along  the  narrow-gauge  road  of 
personal  advancement,  and  we  are  actually  sur 
prised  when  destiny  unexpectedly  spreads  our 
rails  and  we  crawl  out  of  the  ditch  to  find  we 
have  encountered  something  tangible  in  the 
way  of  a  burden.  For  all  the  burdens  which 
life  has  placed  upon  me  I  am  deeply  grateful, 
even  tho  I  may  not  understand,  for  I  believe 
they  are  making  me  a  little  nearer  what  I 
[171] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

would  be;  for  all  the  burdens  which  in  my 
asinine  stupidity  I  have  laid  upon  myself,  I 
pray  to  have  strength  to  lay  aside,  for  they 
are  the  shackles  which  bind  my  feet  to  error. 
Selah! 

The  man  down  at  the  boiler-house  has  the 
uncomfortable  habit  of  turning  off  the  steam 
about  nine-thirty,  and  last  evening  I  had  built 
a  cheerful  fire  of  purloined  soap  boxes  in  the 
open  grate  and  was  sitting  on  the  floor  in 
front  of  it,  pondering  on  many  things: 

"  Of  shoes  and  ships  and  sealing  wax, 
Of  cabbages  and  kings." 

I  wonder  what  magic  there  is  in  an  open  fire 
to  set  one  thinking  of  all  the  good  things  life 
might  have  bestowed,  and  hasn't.  What  charm 
hath  a  soap  box  as  it  crackles  and  burns, 
spreading  its  enchantment  in  showers  of  golden 
sparks,  that  it  can  conjure  before  your 
thought-dimmed  eyes  the  dream-folk  of  long 
ago  and  hold  you  in  its  thrall,  entranced,  till 
the  pitiless  heat  has  consumed  its  shrinking 
form  and  it  totters  hearthward  and  lies  black 
ened  among  its  own  ruins,  to  mock  you  as  you 
gaze  with  its  resemblance  to  your  own  soap 
box  castle,  whose  imaged  dome  lies  buried  deep 
beneath  the  ashes  of  the  never-to-be-forgotten 
past. 

[172] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

It  is  lonely  business,  this  dreaming  of  for 
bidden  things  before  a  darkening  grate,  and  I 
was  glad  when  a  well  known  tap  came  at  my 
door  and  Miss  Schlosser's  fair,  cheerful  face 
presented  itself  to  my  clouded  vision. 

"  Somehow,  I  just  knew  that  you  would  have 
a  fire  and  the  lights  turned  off  and  would  be 
sitting  here  alone,  dreaming.  I  came  over  to 
unburden  my  soul  and  I  never  could  unload 
successfully  with  electric  lights  in  full  blaze. 
I  am  such  a  timid  creature  that  I  require  sub 
dued  lights  and  soft  music  before  I  can  tune 
my  emotions  to  the  confiding  pitch." 

"  Which  means,"  I  said,  piling  up  some 
cushions  for  my  friend  as  she  sat  down,  feet 
under,  like  a  Turk,  "  that  you  want  to  talk 
about  Jimmy  and  I  am  selected  to  play  the 
part  of  animated  dummy,  with  the  privilege  of 
talking  back  when  I  can  get  the  chance.  All 
right,  I'm  agreeable.  How  is  Jimmy  dear?  " 

"  He's  a  joy  and  a  dream,"  said  my  friend 
promptly.  "  He  went  down  town  after  school 
to-day  to  get  me  some  carnations,  just  because 
he  heard  me  say  I  liked  them.  It  poured  rain 
and  he  was  simply  saturated  when  he  stopped 
at  teachers'  quarters  with  them.  I  told  him  he 
really  ought  to  take  himself  down  to  the  laun 
dry  and  hang  himself  out  on  the  line  to  dry." 

"  If  he  did  I  do  believe  he  would  drip  love 
[173] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

instead  of  rainwater.  I  never  saw  a  boy  so 
completely  soaked  thru  and  thru.  Isn't  there 
a  sort  of  painless  self-wringer  on  the  market 
warranted  to  dry  out  anyone  afflicted  as  he  is  ?" 

"0!  joke  about  it,  of  course,"  said  Miss 
Schlosser.  "  There  is  such  a  thing  on  the  mar 
ket  and  it  is  patented  under  the  name  of  matri 
mony,  and  Jimmy  and  I  are  going  to  try  it." 

I  gasped.  Somehow,  I  had  hoped  against 
hope  that  it  wouldn't  come  to  this.  All  my 
old  fears,  all  my  dearly  gained  worldly  wis 
dom,  above  all,  my  almost  unconquerable  de 
sire  to  interfere  for  the  girl's  own  good,  seem 
ingly,  came  rushing  over  me  in  a  flood. 

"  You  little  wretches,"  I  apostrophized  my 
surging  emotions,  "  can't  you  mind  your  own 
business  for  once?  Can't  you  see  this  isn't 
your  wedding?  Can't  you  see  you  have  no 
right  to  interfere?  "  I  never  put  in  a  livelier 
two  minutes  in  the  inside  than  I  did  then,  but  I 
succeeded  in  squelching  every  misguided  good 
intention  I  found  wandering  idly  about,  and 
returned  to  the  surface  quite  cool,  albeit  some 
what  shaken. 

"  Soon?  "  I  asked,  meekly. 

"  As  soon  as  Jimmy  graduates,  in  April," 
replied  my  friend,  evidently  much  surprised  at 
my  unusual  silence. 

Two  months!  I  thought  of  Mrs.  Schlosser, 
[174] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

who  would  weep ;  of  Schlosser,  pere,  who  would 
rave;  of  the  Carlisle  people,  who  would  be 
politely  disapproving;  of  her  schoolgirl 
friends,  who,  failing  utterly  to  understand, 
would  laugh  and  turn  away,  and  my  thoughts 
failed  to  disclose  one  who  thru  unselfish,  un 
prejudiced  comprehension,  would  extend  the 
hand  of  approval  and  good-will.  And  as  I 
looked  at  the  fair,  frail  girl  who  was  sacrific 
ing  so  much  to  be  true  to  the  strongest  impulse 
of  her  untried  heart,  I  found  the  hot  tears  on 
my  cheek  as  I  drew  her  close  to  me  and  thought 
that  perhaps  my  arms  would  be  the  only  ones 
to  encircle  her  in  loving  approbation,  because 
she  was  true  and  unafraid. 

It  seemed  a  long  time  that  we  sat  silently 
watching  the  darkening  coals.  Suddenly  the 
girl  shivered,  as  tho  some  evil  premonition  had 
shattered  a  sweet,  far-distant  dream. 

"  I'm  cold,"  she  said.  "  Your  fire  is  dying 
out.  Have  you  any  more  wood?  " 

"  Plenty,  under  the  bed,"  I  said,  cheerfully. 
"  You're  the  nearer,  reach  over  and  pull  some 
out." 

Miss  Schlosser  lifted  the  valance  of  the  low 
couch,  and,  abstracting  my  hat  box,  would  have 
calmly  placed  it  on  the  coals,  had  I  not  hurried 
ly  rescued  it. 

[175] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

"I  don't  buy  hats  for  fuel,  dear.  Try 
again." 

She  patiently  renewed  her  efforts  and  an 
other  soap  box  proceeded  to  disguise  itself  in 
a  flame-tipped  palace  as  the  blaze  roared  and 
curled  lovingly  about  it.  But  the  spell  was 
broken.  Miss  Schlosser  rose  suddenly  and 
turned  on  the  lights  with  a  snap. 

"  I'm  tired  of  being  so  deadly  respectable," 
she  broke  out.  "  I'm  tired  of  doing  always 
just  what  is  expected  of  me.  Don't  think  I  do 
not  know  the  mapped-out  life  of  a  common, 
everyday  girl  like  me.  She  is  not  rich  enough 
to  satisfy  her  longing  for  change  by  travel, 
not  bright  enough  to  lift  herself  intellectually 
out  of  her  prescribed  sphere.  She  marries  a 
respectable  man,  raises  a  respectable  family 
and  goes  to  a  respectable  heaven — presumably. 
I  hate  the  thought  of  it  all.  The  eternal  same 
ness  day  after  day;  the  constant  friction  of 
trivial  tasks  which  wears  both  brain  and  body; 
the  longing,  just  for  once,  to  do  something 
desperate  and  not  quite  daring,  and  being  al 
ways  haunted  with  the  feeling  that  you  have 
missed  something  in  life  which  you  might  have 
had,  had  you  but  dared.  I  am  going  to  dare. 
I  am  not  going  to  shut  my  eyes  and  plunge  in ; 
I'm  going  to  walk  in,  deliberately,  with  my 
eyes  wide  open,  and  if  I  step  on  a  crab  I  shall 
[176] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

not  scream!  I  am  going  to  have  the  satisfac 
tion  of  knowing,  for  once,  how  it  feels  to  do 
what  everybody  thinks  is  perfectly  awful!  It 
will  be  no  end  of  a  lark.  I  am  going  to  ask 
Jimmy  to  send  home  and  get  his  father's  regi 
mentals — war  bonnet,  tomahawk,  and  those  old 
scalps  he  took  in  Ouster's  last  fight  with  Sitting 
Bull — and  I  am  going  to  have  Jimmy  dress  up 
in  them  and  take  him  to  church  with  me  some 
fine  Sunday  at  home,  and  after  the  service  I 
am  going  to  say  to  everybody,  "  What  a  fine 
sermon ;  how  did  you  like  the  text  ?  "  and  I'll 
bet  Jimmy's  whole  outfit  that  not  a  single  soul 
will  know  what  it  was !  Why,  it  will  be  a  god 
send  to  those  poor  people.  They  haven't  had 
a  new  thing  in  their  lives  for  twenty  years,  and 
how  grateful  they  ought  to  be  to  Jimmy  and 
me  for  furnishing  one." 

"  They  ought  to  be,  indeed.  What  if  Jim 
my  refuses  to  exhibit  ?  " 

"O!  he  wont!  He'll  see  the  joke  all  right 
and  will  do  it  if  I  ask  him." 

"  May  do  it,  my  dear,  may  do  it.  You  must 
learn  to  conjugate  Jimmy  in  the  potential 
mood." 

"Why?  Because  he  is  Jimmy,  or  because 
he  is  a  man  ?  " 

"0!  just  because  of  the  '  perspicussity  '  of 
man  nature.  When  you  want  Jimmy  to  sing 
[177] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

Injun  he'll  chant  English,  and  when  you  ex 
pect  him  to  go  on  the  warpath  he'll  wend  his 
way  to  prayer-meeting  instead." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Miss  Schlosser,  cheerfully. 
"  At  least  life  wont  be  monotonous." 

"  I  can  recommend  several  less  conspicuous 
antidotes  for  that  disease  out  of  my  own  rich 
experience,"  I  said,  modestly. 

"Well,  what?"  exclaimed  my  friend.  "I 
would  like  to  know  of  just  one  thing  even  that 
can  make  me  forget  I  am  a  desperately  re 
spectable  Dutch  schoolma'am,  who  has  done 
nothing  all  her  life  but  what  was  perfectly 
proper  and  altogether  useless.  We  are  so  ever 
lastingly  civilized,  our  lives  are  such  stereo 
typed  affairs,  that  a  new  sensation  is  as  rare  as 
an  honest  Tammany  politician."  Miss  Schlos 
ser  has  one  very  serious  fault;  she  is  a  Re 
publican,  but  I  do  not  think  it  will  over  set  in. 

"  Then,  my  dear,"  I  said,  solemnly,  "  try 
bedbugs ;  just  a  good  liberal  dose  of  nice,  hard 
working  bedbugs.  They  will  make  you  forget 
that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  respectability  in 
existence.  You  have  no  idea  how  absorbing 
they  can  be.  They  will  occupy  your  mind  and 
hands  day  and  night,  and  will  develop  your 
inventive  genius  in  an  astonishing  manner. 
Believe  me,  Jimmy  will  be  quite  a  secondary 
consideration  with  you." 
[178] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

"  I  don't  call  that  a  cure ;  it's  only  a  change 
of  disease,  and  I  much  prefer  Jimmy."  Miss 
Schlosser  spoke  rather  absently.  She  was 
standing  in  front  of  the  mirror,  critically  sur 
veying  herself. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  I  am  an  awful  fool  ?  " 
she  asked,  unexpectedly. 

"  0 !  I  guess  most  of  us  have  worn  the  mot 
ley  and  pointed  cap  during  some  previous  stage 
of  existence  and  we  haven't  quite  outgrown  the 
habit  of  tinkling  our  bells.  Don't  let  that 
worry  you.  The  woods  are  full  of  foolish 
people  and  I  notice  they  are  just  as  happy  as 
the  quidnuncs  who  delude  themselves  with  think 
ing  they  carry  the  wisdom  of  the  ages  on  their 
shoulders." 

"  But  I  thought  you  denied  that  happiness 
is  the  chief  end  of  man,"  remarked  my  friend. 

"  The  chief  end  of  man  has  always  been 
shrouded  in  obscurity,  catechism  to  the  con 
trary,  notwithstanding,"  I  said,  wisely.  "  But 
I  think  happiness  is  the  chief  means  of  accom 
plishment,  especially  for  a  woman.  Of  course 
there  are  women  whose  deepest  natures  seem 
to  require  nothing  more  satisfying  than  the 
insipid  fawning  of  a  pet  poodle,  but  the  good 
such  women  accomplish  is  in  exact  proportion 
to  the  worth  of  their  source  of  happiness.  Then 
there  are  women  who  are  born  with  their  souls 
[179] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

so  on  the  bias  that  nothing  in  the  heavens 
above  or  the  earth  beneath  can  make  them 
happy,  while  any  old  thing  can  make  them  mis 
erable.  The  most  that  type  of  woman  ever 
achieves  is  biliousness  and  the  desolation  of  her 
husband.  But  the  women  who  really  help  to 
undo  the  world's  tangle  are  those  who  have 
learned  that  true  happiness  comes  only  thru 
a  forgetfulness  of  self,  in  the  faithful  perform 
ance  of  little  tasks  which  paves  the  way  to 
greater  achievement  and  in  the  caresses  of  little 
children.  And  a  very  foolish  woman  may  learn 
this,  else  the  world  and  many  of  the  people  in 
it  would  be  in  a  bad  way." 

"  An  animated  dummy,"  I  heard  my  friend 
remark,  reminiscently,  "with  the  privilege  of 
talking  back — "  Miss  Schlosser  caught  the 
piece  of  fudge  I  threw  at  her  and  paused, 
smiling. 

"  Why  don't  you  yell  '  Fire ! '  at  me  when  I 
get  wound  up?  "  I  asked.  "  It  might  possibly 
stop  me." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  your  yarning.  It  gives 
me  time  to  think." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  a  character  sketch  of 
myself  which  one  of  my  promising  Cheyenne 
pupils  wrote  in  school  to-day.  He  said  I  wore 
glass  eyes  and  was  so  thin  I  had  to  wear  a 
blanket  to  cast  a  shadow." 
[180] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

"  The  little  wretch !  Why  didn't  you  shake 
him?" 

"  I  was  going  to,  when  I  happened  to  think 
it  was  about  true.  I  have  lost  thirteen  pounds 
in  the  last  two  months  and  shall  lose  still  more 
if  they  don't  stop  worrying  me  at  home." 

"  Do  the  home  folks  know  of  your  plans  for 
next  April?  "  I  asked. 

"  Mercy,  no !  If  I  told  them,  the  whole 
Schlosser  family  would  move  to  Carlisle  and 
camp  on  my  trail.  I  am  going  to  break  the 
news  to  them,  very  gently,  about  ten  hours 
before  the  ceremony.  They  can  do  a  lot  of 
wailing  in  ten  hours." 

"  You  don't  mean  that,  dear,  I  know." 

"  No,  of  course  not.  I  am  going  to  write 
mother  just  as  soon  as  ever  I  can  muster  the 
courage,  and  ask  her  to  help  me  buy  things. 
She  loves  to  shop." 

It  would  be  a  good  thing  for  the  feminine 
portion  of  the  population  if  some  mothers 
would  learn  the  art  of  governing  their  daugh 
ters  as  thoroly  as  those  daughters  have  mas 
tered  the  science  of  managing  them.  Miss 
Schlosser  knows  quite  well  that  her  mother's 
love  of  shopping  will  be  a  potent  factor  in  re 
ducing  her  very  natural  disinclination  to  be 
come  the  progenitor  of  a  variegated  species  of 
grandchildren.  And  yet,  down  in  her  mother's 
[181] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

heart,  I  think  Mrs.  Schlosser  will  honor  her 
daughter's  loyalty  to  that  spark  of  divinity 
within  her  which  teaches  adherence  to  the 
heart's  strongest  motive — love. 

It  is  her  portion  of  that  eternal  spirit  which 
ever  strives  after  the  unknown  and  to  those 
who  have  followed  its  guidance,  regardless  of 
all  else,  the  world  owes  all  it  is  or  hopes  to  be. 
Miss  Schlosser  may  discover  nothing  more 
wonderful  than  the  fact  that  the  same  stars 
shine  in  Dakota  as  in  Pennsylvania,  and  that 
Jimmy  prefers  custard  pie  to  blueberry,  but 
since  her  discovery  teaches  the  constancy  of 
the  heavens  and  the  inconsistency  of  man,  it 
will  probably  be  of  some  use  to  her. 

To-morrow  is  Saturday  and  inspection  day. 
Once  a  month  the  Superintendent  and  the 
heads  of  the  various  departments  don  their 
"  pomposity,"  uniforms  and  white  gloves  and 
make  the  round  of  all  the  buildings,  looking 
for  dirt.  It  is  needless  to  say  their  search  is 
usually  rewarded,  but  girls'  quarters  are  as 
spotless  as  it  is  possible  for  human  habitation 
to  be.  How  the  girls  scrub  and  clean  the  day 
before  inspection!  I  can  hear  a  fullblood 
Cheyenne  on  her  knees  in  the  room  next  mine, 
scrubbing  for  dear  life  and  singing  the  Pil 
grim's  Chorus  from  Tannhauser  as  she  works. 
If  the  two  occupations  seem  incongruous  to 
[182] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

you  please  reflect  that  the  majority  of  people 
are  consistent  only  in  their  inconsistencies. 

When  we  train  the  Indian  in  the  ways  of 
civilization  we  open  up  to  him  the  avenue  of 
wrong  living  as  well  as  the  thoroughfare  of 
usefulness.  It  happens,  of  course,  that  an  oc 
casional  Carlisle  student  goes  back  to  his 
blanket  and  tepee,  or  uses  his  education  for 
dishonest  purposes.  Such  students  are  invari 
ably  hoisted  before  the  public  as  examples 
which  prove  the  futility  of  assisting  the  race 
to  a  higher  plane  of  living.  The  argument  is 
too  weak-kneed  to  stand  alone.  Education 
cannot  wholly  eradicate  evil  instincts  in  a  man, 
be  the  color  of  his  exterior  what  it  may,  and  I 
hold  that  if  an  Indian  must  be  a  knave,  it  were 
better  that  he  be  an  intelligent  one.  The  ad 
mirers  of  native  stupidity  may  think  as  they 
choose. 

As  ever,  yours, 

JEAN. 

P.  S. — I  forgot  to  say  what  brand  of  moral 
castor  oil  I  have  found  most  efficacious.  It  is 
put  on  the  market,  condensed,  wrapped  in 
brown  paper,  and  bears  the  trade-mark  of  Fra 
Albertus.  Dilute  with  an  equal  amount  of 
moderation  and  you  will  find  that  it  stays  down 
better. 

[183] 


CARLISLE,  PENN. 

MAY  1,  19—. 


DEAR: 


I  don't  feel  a  bit  like  describing  that  wed 
ding.  Next  to  being  married  yourself,  watch 
ing  your  best  girl  friend  getting  tangled  up 
for  time  and  Dakota  is  about  the  most  un 
translatable  thing  I  know  of. 

You  see  Miss  Schlosser  had  planned  on  be 
ing  quietly  married  in  town,  with  just  her 
mother  and  the  Big  Four  as  audience,  but  the 
forlorn  remnant  of  the  Big  Four  begged  so 
hard  for  a  merry,  informal  ceremony  at  the 
school,  with  the  employees  and  Jimmy's  friends 
among  the  students  present,  that  she  capitu 
lated  and  left  us  to  arrange  things  to  suit  our 
selves. 

You  have  probably  heard  of  that  remarkably 
brilliant  collie  who  was  sent  to  market  for 
some  steak.  He  was  carrying  it  home  very 
carefully,  in  a  basket,  when  he  was  set  upon  by 
three  other  dogs,  who  speedily  relieved  him  of 
his  burden  and  proceeded  to  devour  it,  a  la  raw. 
The  collie  put  up  a  good  fight,  but  when  he 
[185] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

saw  that  he  was  fairly  beaten,  and  the  steak 
bound  to  be  eaten  anyway,  he  turned  to  and 
ate  his  share  with  a  right  good  will. 

Now,  that  dog  displayed  some  decidedly 
Christianlike  characteristics,  tho  I  don't  sup 
pose  there  is  a  Presbyterian  congregation  in 
the  country  that  would  admit  him  to  member 
ship.  Like  the  collie,  I  had  done  what  I  could, 
so  I  flung  regrets  and  fears  to  the  winds,  and 
did  my  utmost  to  make  the  occasion  a  pleasant 
one.  So  did  Miss  Schlosser's  other  friends  who 
had  been  making  themselves  miserable  borrow 
ing  disaster  from  the  future.  It's  queer  we 
never  learn  to  attend  to  our  own  affairs,  and 
leave  the  future  alone.  Whatever  private 
thoughts  Miss  Schlosser's  Carlisle  friends  may 
have  entertained  regarding  the  match,  they  un 
ceremoniously  dismissed  them,  and  only  bright, 
cheerful  faces  surrounded  the  bride  on  her  last 
day  among  us. 

Mrs.  Schlosser's  pale  face  showed  signs  of 
the  struggle  her  only  daughter's  marriage  was 
costing  her,  but  she,  too,  bravely  concealed  her 
regrets  beneath  a  cheerful  exterior  and  joined 
royally  in  the  merrymaking. 

We  have  all  seen  people  who  cry  at  a  wed 
ding  as  cheerfully  as  at  a  funeral.  I  have  no 
words  to  do  justice  to  such  idiocy!  Such  peo 
ple  ought  to  be  tied  up  with  a  short  rope  the 
[186] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

day  after  they  get  their  invitations,  and  kept 
tied  till  the  ceremony  is  safely  over.  Instead, 
they  are  usually  the  ones  to  arrive  early,  and 
get  good  seats  where  they  can  see  and  be  seen. 
They  weep  gently  all  thru  the  ceremony,  and 
go  up  to  console  the  happy  couple,  with  a  red 
nose  and  their  handkerchief  in  a  little  wet  wad 
in  their  right  hands. 

I  have  never  been  handicapped  in  my  at 
tempts  to  make  a  fool  of  myself,  and  I  see  no 
reason  to  believe  that  I  have  by  any  means 
exhausted  my  capabilities,  but  that  is  one  form 
of  idiocy  of  which  I  am  not  guilty.  There  are 
times  when  it  is  best  to  forget  that  there  is  a 
to-morrow,  and  a  wedding  is  one  of  them. 
Tears  at  a  wedding  show  a  pitiful  lack  of  self- 
control,  I  think.  A  group  of  new,  red-eyed  re 
lations  must  make  the  groom  feel  so  comfort 
able! 

There  were  no  red  noses  or  wet  kerchiefs  at 
Miss  Schlosser's  wedding.  There  was  nothing 
even  half  as  formal.  A  stranger  happening  to 
visit  Carlisle  that  day  would  doubtless  go  away 
and  remark :  "  Mighty  funny  thing  to  call 
Carlisle  an  industrial  school.  No  one  was  do 
ing  a  thing  but  having  a  good  time  and  mak 
ing  all  the  racket  they  could.  I  always  did  say 
that  you  can't  get  no  work  out  of  an  Injun. 
[187] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

I  am  going  to  send  in  a  recommendation  to 
have  the  place  abolished." 

The  Big  Four  had  calmly  appropriated  the 
public  parlor,  and  cleaned  and  rearranged  and 
decorated  till  even  their  hearts  were  satisfied. 
Jimmy's  student  friends  contributed  such  quan 
tities  of  carnations  that  the  prosy  parlor 
looked  liked  a  strayed  florist's  showroom. 

Promptly  at  three  o'clock,  Jimmy,  escorted 
by  the  entire  class  of  '0 — ,  strolled  leisurely 
over  from  large  boys'  quarters.  Not  quite  so 
promptly  the  Big  Four  strolled  out  to  meet 
them.  James  Ashley  looked  remarkably  well 
in  his  civilian's  suit,  and  his  black  eyes  sought 
his  bride's  with  a  world  of  love  in  their  dark 
depths.  Miss  Schlosser  wore  the  simplest  of 
white  frocks,  guiltless  of  frills,  and  she  looked 
— I  was  going  to  say  like  a  frail  bit  of  Dresden 
china,  but  I  feel  sorry  for  that  overworked 
simile,  and,  anyway,  Miss  Schlosser  is  deserv 
ing  of  a  more  natural  descriptive  phrase,  so  I 
will  say  she  looked  like  a  sweet  little  Dutch 
maid. 

Merrily,  the  two  parties  joined  and  entered 
the  gaily  decorated  parlor,  where  the  em 
ployees,  in  laughing  groups,  were  in  waiting. 

"  Where  are  we  to  stand  ?  "  asked  the  bride. 
"  Please  don't  stick  us  up  in  a  corner.  Let's 
[188] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

stand  in  the  center  of  the  room  and  everybody 
form  a  circle  around  us." 

And  we  did,  and  not  a  face  in  all  the  number 
showed  a  trace  of  any  fears  concerning  the 
future  of  the  youthful  pair,  so  earnestly  pledg 
ing  themselves  before  God  and  man,  "  till  death 
do  us  part."  There  was  the  usual  little  awk 
ward  moment  at  the  conclusion  of  the  cere 
mony,  as  we  waited  for  Jimmy  to  salute  his 
bride.  It's  queer  how  foolish  public  caresses 
make  the  observers  feel.  Jimmy  seemed  per 
fectly  oblivious  of  us  all  as  he  turned  and  raised 
his  wife's  little  bare  hand  to  his  lips.  Some 
how,  part  of  the  heavy  load  of  doubt  I  had  been 
carrying  took  wings  and  flew  away  at  that  sim 
ple,  loving  act.  It  seemed  to  express  a  great 
deal,  much  more  than  I  can  put  into  words. 

Jimmy  saw  very  little  of  his  bride  after  that. 
There  was  only  an  hour  till  time  to  start  for 
the  train,  and  sixty  minutes  is  none  too  long 
a  time  for  a  bride  to  change  into  a  traveling 
gown  when  some  forty  young  people  assist  in 
the  transformation.  Fourteen  of  them  but 
toned  the  bride  up  the  back — one  girl  to  each 
button — and  then  fourteen  more  unbuttoned 
and  buttoned  her  up  again.  If  you  think  that 
can  be  done  in  ten  minutes,  or  twenty,  just  try 
it  the  first  time  you  catch  a  bride  with  fourteen 
buttons,  who  is  willing  to  be  the  victim. 
[189] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

"  There !  "  exclaimed  the  bride.  "  I  knew  I 
would  do  something  foolish,  as  usual.  I've 
packed  the  belt  to  this  waist  in  my  suitcase." 

There  was  general  rush  for  the  new,  bridal- 
looking  suitcase,  but  it  was  securely  locked. 

"  I  locked  it  and  hid  the  key,"  explained 
Mrs.  Jimmy.  "  I  didn't  want  any  liberties 
taken  with  its  contents.  Here,  dear,"  giving 
me  the  key,  "  you  get  the  belt  for  me  and  put 
the  key  in  my  handbag.  There  are  the  car 
riages  now.  Hurry!  Be  sure  you  lock  it 
again." 

I  found  the  belt  at  the  bottom,  underneath  a 
very  suspicious-looking  array  of  things,  care 
fully  locked  the  suitcase,  and  looked  on  the 
dresser  for  the  handbag  which  had  been  there 
but  a  minute  before.  It  had  disappeared. 

"Where's  that  handbag?"  I  called  to  the 
crowd  in  general. 

"  Miss  Albright  has  it,"  someone  answered. 
"  She  went  out  just  now." 

"  All  aboard,"  rang  out  a  merry  voice  out 
side.  "  Private  carriage  for  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Eagleson — this  way,"  and  Jimmy  proudly 
handed  his  wife  to  her  seat. 

"  I  wish  you  could  ride  with  us,"  said  Mrs. 
Jimmy,  bending  down  to  give  my  hand  a  last 
squeeze.  "  I  have  oceans  to  tell  you  yet.  I 
[190] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

suppose  the  whole  town  will  be  there  to  gape 
at  us.  How  do  I  look?  " 

"  Like  a  fullblood,"  I  replied.  "  I  am  sorry, 
but  I  have  to  ride  with  the  mourners  in  the  next 
carriage." 

The  driver  started  his  horses  with  a  flourish 
of  his  beribboned  whip,  and  the  other  teams 
quickly  fell  in  line.  Autos,  carriages,  carryall 
herdic  and  farm  wagons  were  all  put  into  use 
that  day.  Every  available  vehicle  from  farm 
and  barns  was  filled  with  rice-laden,  shoe-laden 
boys  and  girls,  old  maids  and  benedicts,  all 
bent  on  giving  the  departing  couple  a  send-off 
that  should  go  down  in  the  history  of  the  school 
as  "  the  day  of  the  wedding." 

It  seemed  that  Mrs.  Jimmy's  fears  were  not 
vain,  for  there  was  a  large  crowd  at  the  station 
waiting  for  the  bridal  couple,  for  news  of  the 
wedding  had  been  circulating  for  days. 

"  I  wonder  where  the  band  is,"  I  remarked. 
"  It's  queer  that  it  is  not  here  to  see  its  ex- 
member  off." 

If  the  band  wasn't  there,  everybody  else  was, 
and  things  promised  well  for  a  lively  fifteen 
minutes  before  the  train  was  due.  The  trunks, 
which  the  plotting  couple  had  sent  on  ahead, 
were  promptly  hunted  out  by  a  crowd  of  boys, 
and  something  like  fifty  pairs  of  worn-out  gov 
ernment  shoes  were  tagged  on  them.  Many  of 
[191] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

the  shoes  were  filled  with  rice,  and  I'll  warrant 
those  trunks  shed  telltale  decorations  all  the 
way  to  South  Dakota. 

Among  the  onlookers  at  the  station  was  a 
fat,  red-faced  drummer,  who  evidently  was  at 
sea  about  it  all,  and  was  wondering  if  a  frag 
ment  of  an  Indian  reservation  had  suddenly 
blown  into  Carlisle.  He  edged  nearer  and 
nearer  the  circle  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of 
the  bridal  pair,  determined  to  have  a  look  at 
the  bride.  When  he  caught  sight  of  Mrs.  Jim 
my's  fair  face,  as  she  stood  laughing  up  at  her 
husband,  his  jaw  dropped  and  he  vented  his 
astonishment  in  a  voice  audible  to  the  entire 
group: 

"  Well,  by  gum,  if  she  ain't  married  a  dumb 
Injun!" 

The  bride  caught  the  words,  and  her  face 
flushed  angrily.  In  the  momentary  silence, 
Jimmy  excused  himself  and  walked  calmly  up 
to  the  drummer,  who  still  stood  staring,  appar 
ently  unconscious  of  his  remark  and  its  results. 

The  crowd  of  boys  instinctively  drew  nearer, 
wondering  how  long  that  drummer  would  last 
under  Jimmy's  trained  muscles,  while  those  of 
us  who  were  not  boys  thrilled  with  a  sudden  fear 
that  our  delightful  day  was  to  end  in  discord. 

Jimmy  walked  to  within  a  foot  of  the  per 
spiring  drummer,  and  began  speaking.  At  the 
[192] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

first  sentence  we  all  grinned  gleefully,  for  we 
knew  Jimmy  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  He 
was  talking  Indian  to  that  poor  drummer, 
whose  face  showed  him  to  be  in  doubt  as  to 
what  an  Indian's  exact  method  of  scalping 
might  be.  Jimmy — as  he  told  us  afterward — 
was  only  repeating  the  Lord's  Prayer  in  Da 
kota,  and  at  the  end  of  every  sentence  he  shook 
his  fist  under  the  paleface's  nose,  which,  by  the 
way,  was  some  ninety  degrees  in  the  shade  red 
der  than  Jimmy's.  I  knew  by  the  look  on  the 
bridegroom's  face  that  he  was  enjoying  himself 
from  the  boots  up,  while  for  us,  we  were  simply 
speechless  with  suppressed  laughter. 

"  Eh?  "  ejaculated  the  drummer,  as  Jimmy 
paused.  "  I  beg  pardon,  what  was  that  you 
said?" 

Jimmy  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  repeat 
his  unusual  invocation,  but  stood  calmly  look 
ing  at  his  victim,  who  was  momentarily  getting 
more  uncomfortable. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  again.  "  I 
say,"  he  addressed  the  staring  crowd,  "  is  there 
someone  present  who  can  make  this — er — this 
gentleman  understand  that  I  beg  his  pardon?  " 

"  I  accept  your  apology,"  said  Jimmy, 
gravely,  in  English.  "  Just  remember,  please, 
that  there  are  other  things  in  the  world  be- 
[193] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

sides  drummers  and  dry  goods.  It's  astonish 
ing  what  a  lot  you  may  learn." 

Jimmy  walked  back  to  his  friends,  leaving 
the  drummer  the  very  picture  of  amazed  con 
trition. 

"  By  gum,"  he  said  again,  faintly,  as  he 
turned  and  disappeared  in  the  waiting-room,  to 
be  seen  no  more. 

At  that  moment,  with  a  clash  of  sound  that 
drowned  even  the  noise  of  the  street's  traffic, 
around  the  nearby  corner  came  the  Carlisle 
Indian  Band,  gaily  marching  to  the  tune  of 
"  Hail,  All  Hail,  the  Gang's  All  Here,"  and 
led  by  a  small  boy  who  carried  Jimmy's  trom 
bone,  literally  covered  with  white  ribbons,  high 
over  his  head. 

Ah,  Jimmy !  It  was  but  yesterday  that  you 
marched  with  them,  happy  and  carefree.  To 
day  you  face  the  complex  future  of  a  Dakota 
allotment,  a  white  wife,  and  rations  for  two. 
I  had  never  before  considered  a  bridegroom  de 
serving  of  sympathy,  but  in  isolated  cases,  it  is 
barely  possible  that  he  may  be. 

Well,  the  train  puffed  in  on  time  and  swal 
lowed  up  our  bride  and  groom,  together  with 
about  a  bathtub  of  rice  and  numberless  old 
shoes,  which,  but  for  the  parsimony  of  a  pater 
nal  government,  would  have  reached  a  less  con 
spicuous  destination  months  before.  I  had  a 
[194] 


THE  INDIAN  SPECIAL 

special  interest  in  those  shoes.  The  supply 
came  mostly  from  girls'  quarters,  and  I  can  see 
a  day  of  reckoning  hovering  o'er  me,  when 
there  will  be  weeping  and  counting  of  feet,  for 
the  quartermaster  will  demand  of  me,  "  Where 
are  the  shoes  I  gavest  thou?  "  and  how  can  I 
tell,  when  they  strew  the  earth  from  Carlisle 
to  Crow  River? 

But  it  will  be  worth  it  just  to  see  the  old- 
shoe  room  empty,  for  once! 

The  last  glimpse  I  had  was  of  the  conductor, 
frantically  waving  "  All  aboard ! "  amid  a 
whirlwind  of  rice,  with  two  shoes,  tied  by  a 
string,  decorating  his  manly  bosom. 

It  was  government  rice,  and  not  quite  up  to 
the  contract  at  that,  but  no  one  seemed  to 
notice  it. 

I  excused  myself  on  the  plea  of  having  some 
shopping  to  do,  and  walked  the  mile  back  to  the 
school  alone.  I  was  still  laughing  at  the  thought 
of  that  poor  conductor  with  his  unusual  trim 
mings,  but  my  lachrymal  glands  were  display 
ing  squall  signals,  and  I  longed  for  solitude. 

As  I  vainly  searched  for  my  handkerchief,  I 
became  conscious  of  a  small,  hard  object  in  the 
glove  of  my  left  hand,  and  I  drew  it  forth  with 
a  little  gasp  of  amused  dismay. 

It  was  the  key  to  Mrs.  James  Ashley  Eagle- 
son's  suitcase! 

[195] 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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